Till I'm A Hundred, You Idiot
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Because everyone shortchanges them. Because there's really so much more. Because they are the characters that, when put together, have the greatest tendency to be OOC. And that is such a shame. Mentions of Royai and EdWin, but NO YAOI.
1. Childhood Friend

**Author's Note: Well, here I go again. Because my fic ****_A Hundred Ways to Say You're My Brother_**** (in which I used the Royai 100 Themes to explore the Elric brothers' relationship) was so successful, I decided I should do a similar fic with the EdWin 100 Themes. I didn't want to do another one with the Elrics (though I could easily have written 100 more oneshots), so in the end I decided to write about Roy Mustang and Edward Elric.**

**For some reason I've never been able to fathom, RoyEd is one of the most popular pairings in this fandom. If you're a fan of that, then you probably won't want to read any of this, because there will be absolutely no romance between those two characters in this fic. No yaoi. Period. The trouble I have with RoyEd is threefold:**

**1. Generally, non-canon pairings make me go o.0 Especially ones between characters who already have an established canon romance. I usually remain pretty skeptical unless someone can convince me it would work. Such a decision is obviously pretty subjective, so while I've never been able to see how RoyEd works, I understand that other people do, which is fine by me. (Examples of non-canon pairings from this fandom that I've been able to understand - to a certain point, if the circumstances are tailored minutely to make it work - would be AlXElysia and Havocai. I still don't support them, but I can kind of understand where they're coming from.)**

**2. Ed and Mustang are ****_fourteen years apart in age._**** If that doesn't sound at least a ****_little_**** odd to you, then I hope you'll forgive me as I inch slowly away XD Sorry, that just smacks a liiiiitle too close to "pedophilia" for me to be comfortable with it. I mean, if you think about it, when Ed becomes a State Alchemist, he's 12 and Mustang is 26. At the time of the story proper, Ed is 15 and Mustang is 29. No? Okay, moving on.**

**3. Ed and Mustang have one of the most fascinating relationships I've ever seen. It's somehow simultaneously boss-employee, peer-peer, father-son, uncle-nephew, and brother-brother with a complete lack of respect for each other that somehow gets on each other's nerves but doesn't ruin their relationship completely. I've never seen a relationship quite like theirs in any other story, and it fascinates me. If you ask me, adding in romance doesn't add a single thing to their relationship - rather, it detracts. I guess some people think it adds plenty, but to me romantic attraction changes the whole slant of a relationship. Sometimes it works and makes the relationship deeper than it would be otherwise. In this case, I feel it takes away some of the nuances I like best in their relationship. That's my view, and if you hold a different one, I promise I won't bite your head off about it if you do the same, because I'd like to keep my head, plzkthnxbai. It's kind of necessary to keep writing fanfics XD**

**That being said, though I will never ****_really_**** be able to understand RoyEd shippers, I'm content to not run around bashing them over the head for writing the pairing if they'll do the same for me ^_^**

**Anyway, suffice to say there will be no yaoi in this fic. There ****_will_**** probably be quite a bit of Hawkeye, Hughes, Al, and Winry, since you can't have Mustang and Ed without the people who are most important to them. From what I've written so far, this is going to be ****_very_**** fun indeed XD Since I chose such a weird title, and because this whole thing is so easily misunderstood, I decided the only way to do this was to explain the title in the first chapter. At first I thought it would be impossible with this theme, but somehow I made it work. I also experimented with weird structures, loose grammar, and strong beginnings and endings, which is always fun.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 1: Childhood friend**

Roy Mustang stared at the slight bulge of his feet under the sheet and thought about how stupid he was. He made an assessment, from the feet up.

His feet were stupid, for not running fast enough. For stumbling at precisely the wrong moment. For making him sprawl on his face, saving him from a bullet to the stomach.

His legs were stupid, for seizing up and getting tired even though he dutifully did his exercises every day. Even someone with thighs as thick as Armstrong's couldn't run that far, that fast. Couldn't pound down the streets of Central swiftly enough to escape his own curses. Devoid of oxygen, tightened with lactic acid, they still ached and they were stupid.

His abdomen was stupid, for heaving with mocking laughter. For not jolting with terror or even squirming with guilt when he heard that Edward had sneaked out of his hospital room.

His lungs were stupid, for pushing out the air it took to tease the boy. His heart was stupid, for not halting right in its tracks before he could speak and sparing them all. His hands and his arms were stupid too, for making mocking gestures. For not reaching out to stop Winry Rockbell when she ran, sobbing, from the room.

Even his face was stupid. His lips, for curling up in a smirk just because that was what annoyed Edward most. His ears, for not hearing what was really going on when Edward yelled at the top of his lungs, "SHE'S JUST A CHILDHOOD FRIEND, OKAY?" His eyes, for being so blind. So pathetically, stupidly blind.

Roy sighed and covered his face with one arm. How simply the day had begun, with Lieutenant Hawkeye rescuing him from the endless tedium of the office by saying, "The nurse just called to inform you that Edward Elric is conscious now, sir. Apparently, he is having a rather loud..._conversation_ with Miss Rockbell and is disturbing the other patients."

And so they'd traipsed off to Central Military Hospital, ostensibly to put his subordinate in order, but in reality just to tick him off further. Who would miss such a rare chance as teasing the most sensitive teenager in existence in front of the girl he wouldn't admit he liked? Not Roy Mustang, oh no.

_YOU'RE NOT PRETTY, YOU'RE NOT CUTE, AND I WOULDN'T GO OUT WITH YOU IF I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN YOU AND KING BRADLEY!_ That was what the silver-tongued Full Metal Alchemist had bellowed at Miss Rockbell right before the nurses kicked all the visitors out, saying that he had to rest. And Roy hadn't thought anything of it, not until they received a ransom note from the very criminals who had landed Edward in the hospital in the first place.

Slowly, Roy's arm slid back down by his side and he turned his head to look at the bed next to his. Edward's face was still pale, and his eyes looked groggy and drugged, but at least they were open now. He'd looked dead when Roy had finally relinquished him in an ambulance. Grey and dripping, like a dead fish.

The bullet had hit his right shoulder, thankfully. And ricocheted. And fractured his collarbone. And almost caused him to bleed to death. The criminals' hideout was so far from any main roads... But at least it hadn't hit the poor boy's heart, as it very well could have. The kid was just too short, that was all there was to it.

As if he could hear Roy's thoughts, Edward frowned and looked groggily back at him. Roy turned his head away again, unable to meet those eyes clouded by pain the drugs couldn't completely eliminate. How was it fair that Roy had escaped with nothing but a sprained ankle and a bad scrape on one arm? Stumbling painfully out of that hideout, leaving behind the whole gang so badly burned they wouldn't be able to move before the police got to them, lugging a bleeding and possibly dead boy along with him... That made the picture of a heroic man going to rescue his incompetent subordinate. Which was completely the reverse. Because it was all his fault, every bit of it, and Edward deserved so much more than the constant teasing hospital calls he received from his superior.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Roy sighed into the empty air. They hadn't spoken since Edward had let out a surprised little, "Ouch," before losing consciousness as Roy shouted his name. He wanted to apologize, but he had no idea where to start because now the time they'd known each other stretched out behind him and he realized he would have to apologize for every single thing he'd ever said or done to him, or it would be meaningless. Like an excuse. A lame excuse that could never cover up what their relationship had led to. He could only make things worse.

So what he said instead was, "How long are you going to put up with me, Edward?"

He snorted. "Till I'm a hundred, you idiot."


	2. Family

**Author's Note: It's funny, but even though Hughes is normally thought of as the family man of the story, I think Mustang is just as much of one, even if he expresses it without photos and floating pink hearts. His unit interacts much like a family at times, as many have explored in various fics. But I wanted to explore more of his "real" family situation, as revealed in the manga. It's quite intriguing, because it's rather unconventional and not much is actually revealed. Everyone seems to have their own ideas about it, so I decided to put forth the main impression I got from the revelations about his family, strengthened by conversations with my friend Dailenna.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 2: Family**

It had been a bad day. Mustang had been ordering him around, making him run stupid errands that took him back and forth all over Central. They weren't things he cared about, they didn't seem to further Mustang's goals, and they _certainly_ didn't bring him any closer to the Philosopher's Stone. Unfortunately, Mustang was a colonel and Edward only a major, so what Mustang said had to happen.

But Edward decided he'd had the last straw when he trudged up the steps to Headquarters at the end of the day – looking forward to being able to sit down somewhere, maybe slurp down some of the good coffee that was always percolating in the cafeteria – only to turn around and see Mustang's car slide into a parking space, and out of the passenger door popped a pretty young lady. She giggled, let out a sing-song, "Bye-bye, Rooooy!" and tripped happily towards the street on her high heels.

"Next Tuesday, same time?" Mustang called after her as he closed both doors.

The woman turned at the crosswalk and blew him a kiss. "You bet!"

Edward felt the heat rising in his cheeks like a teapot about to boil over. Gritting his teeth and crossing his arms over his chest, he waited at the top of the stairs for Mustang to notice him.

His superior had the audacity to ignore him, twirling his car keys around one finger, until he reached the top step as well and gave an unconvincing start of surprise. "Full Metal, there you are! Did you do everything I told you?"

"What right do you have to order me around?" Edward snapped, glaring up at the man and gripping his automail wrist with his other hand to restrain the urge to punch that smug face. "You send me all around the perimeter of the city inspecting the _sewage treatment plants_, while you go off and have a _date?_"

Mustang smirked. "It's called the perks of the job, Full Metal. Maybe one of these days you'll experience them yourself – if any girl would have someone so sho-"

"I'M NOT A TINY MINISCULE BEAN JUST WAITING TO BE SQUASHED UNDERFOOT, and don't change the subject!" He glared up at Mustang, then turned away in disgust. "Why do I even follow the orders of a slacker like you? Do you even do any work at all?"

Mustang said nothing at first, and Edward took a step away from him, meaning to storm off and find Alphonse so he could complain loudly and ignore his brother's pleas to be quiet or they'd get thrown out of the library. But then Mustang clicked his tongue exasperatedly behind him, and stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. "Get in the car."

"Huh?"

"The _car,_ Full Metal. It's that metal thing with four wheels."

Grumbling, Edward obeyed and slouched into the passenger seat, sitting as low as possible and glowering as Mustang slid back into the seat he had vacated just minutes previously. After they'd pulled out of the parking lot and started down Main Street, Edward grudgingly asked, "Where are you dragging me off to _this_ time?"

"You'll see. I just need to clear up a few things, that's all."

Edward scowled and refused to give Mustang the satisfaction of knowing how curious he really was. This was the first time Mustang had taken him anywhere, just the two of them. Usually he just ordered him around from the office, or at least told him what was going on before they both piled into the back of a car driven by Lieutenant Hawkeye or someone else. With no one else in the car, not even Alphonse, this outing felt a bit more...personal. Intimate. And Edward realized with a small shock that he'd never thought about what Mustang's life was like outside the office. He had no idea what his house looked like, what he did in the evenings outside of his notorious dates.

Not that he cared to find out. Edward made a face at his reflection and watched the streets slide past. Yet as Mustang continued to drive, turning corners and heading down side streets with obvious familiarity, Edward's frown lost its sullenness and became confused instead. "Uh...Mustang?" he spoke up tentatively, sitting up a little straighter as they made one final turn and began to slow down. "Why are you taking me to the red light district?"

Rolling his eyes, Mustang drew the car up to the curb and pulled the parking brake. "It's not the _red light district._ For that you have to go further out, towards the slums. This is merely a street famous for its night clubs." As though that made it any better, he promptly got out of the car.

Edward scrambled to follow him, and together they headed for the building on the corner, which had a sign over the door that read _Madame Christmas._ "I'm a _minor,_" he snarled as Mustang reached for the door handle.

"So don't drink."

Exasperated, Edward followed his unfathomable superior into a spacious, tastefully decorated room with small round tables scattered around the shiny wood floor and a bar curving around the back. There were a few customers sitting at the tables, and a large cluster of young, pretty women perched on stools at the bar. The women turned at the tinkling door and immediately greeted Mustang with a chorus of giggles and fluttery smiles. Edward felt revolted, despite their beauty, but Mustang responded with a warm smile.

"How's it going, girls?" he asked in his most manly voice, raised slightly as though for the benefit of the men sitting around the room.

"Oh, it's been so _dull_ without you, Roy!" one girl pouted, pushing out her lips as though to show off her stark red makeup while she twirled a thick strand of her blond hair around a finger.

"Who's this you've brought with you today?" The one who looked like the boldest of the group, with shiny black curls and rather large front teeth, bent over with her hands on her knees, as though addressing a toddler. "Oh, isn't he _cute?_" She patted him on the cheek, making him flush and all the girls burst into giggles again.

Hunching his shoulders in his red coat, Edward turned away and wished Mustang would just get on with it already. Was this what he'd brought him here for? Humiliation and maybe another date thrown into the mix? But then a large woman came out of the room behind the bar, carrying with her an overpowering scent of perfume, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. At least she didn't giggle or preen. Chewing her bubble gum in between words, she asked in an unflappable voice, "What'll it be, Roy-boy?"

"Whiskey." Mustang, who was grinning at the girls' attempts to get his attention, cast his gaze over the occupied tables and said, slightly lower, "And a private room, please."

"For you?" The lady asked Edward.

He scowled again. "I'm fourteen."

"A sandwich it is, then," she decided, stepping out through a small door in the bar. "This way."

Edward slouched along behind Mustang and the lady, grateful only that the girls had remained behind at the bar. But when they were shown to a small room with a fancy fireplace, a thick carpet, and a small table, Edward rounded on his companion. As soon as the door clicked shut, he demanded, "Why'd you bring me to this stupid place? What's the big idea?"

Mustang lowered himself with a tired sigh into an armchair next to the fireplace, though it wasn't cold enough to light the logs. "I brought you here because I decided you have a right to know the truth. The others already know, after all."

"What are you talking about?" Edward dropped reluctantly into the armchair facing Mustang.

He inched a little closer and lowered his voice. "Madame Christmas – the lady who runs this establishment – is my adopted mother."

At first, Edward could only blink. "Adopted...?"

Mustang nodded, looking slightly amused. "I was orphaned when I was about three. Chris Mustang is the only mother I've known."

"Chris Must..." Edward pieced it all together just in time for the lady they were talking about to bring their orders in.

Instead of leaving immediately, Madame Christmas paused, hands on hips, to run a critical eye over her son. But in the end, all she said was, "Get more sleep at night, boy." Then she was gone again.

With a fond smile Edward had never seen on his face before, Mustang took a sip of his whiskey and folded his arms comfortably. "And those charming girls out there, Full Metal – the ones you always complain about? Madame Christmas adopted them too."

It took a moment for these words to sink in, but when they did, Edward leapt out of his seat as though the cushion had suddenly burned him. "EWWWWWWWW!"

Mustang almost spilled his whiskey as he dropped his glass back onto the table and snapped angrily, "It's not like that, Ed! Sit down; this is top-secret information I'm giving you."

But Edward could only point a shaking finger at him and stammer, "B-but why...how come you...I..."

Mustang lowered his voice even further, though from the expression on his face it looked like he wanted to shout instead. "It's imperative that no one know my relation to these women, because the interactions we display to the world are all a farce. My sisters are my information network; they can get contacts and information from circles I could never enter, and I arrange dates with them to exchange information."

Edward slowly sank back into his chair, staring numbly at Mustang. He felt like his whole view of who the man was had just tilted and shifted completely. It was like being held upside down by the heel and shaken vigorously, then set swiftly on the ground again.

Mustang's expression hardened. "So don't disregard them. My sisters have been very gracious to go along with this, to live as actresses every moment of their lives. It's only because they believe in me and my goal that they go along with it, and that's more than many brothers can boast of."

Swallowing, Edward realized that he and Mustang were more alike than he normally acknowledged. He wondered what it would be like if he had to play a part like Mustang's sisters, in the hope that one day his brother would achieve his goal. And of course he would do it, and do it gladly, no matter how weird it was. He lowered his gaze to his toes. "Sorry."

"No problem. But I'd eat that sandwich, if I were you. You've had a long day."

Edward looked up in surprise. Part of him wanted to erupt with anger, because Mustang had no right to get concerned _now,_ of all times. But there was a certain kinship, a warmth, in the smirk Mustang was giving him. A small glint of complicity Edward had noticed without realizing it in the eyes of the Mustang women.

But then his stomach growled, so he grabbed the sandwich and pushed less important thoughts out of his mind.


	3. Remembrance

**Author's Note: This one had me horribly stumped until I happened to be examining the calendar one day and realized that the holiday known as Veterans' Day in the United States is called Remembrance Day in the UK and Canada. Instantly, I had my story. I re-envisioned Mustang's final long bit of dialogue about three times, trying to get it right.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 3: Remembrance**

Mustang refused to speak to him until he'd stomped all the way to his office, slammed the door behind them, and released his hold on Edward's collar. Edward stumbled as Mustang practically threw him at one of the couches, and collapsed onto the upholstery with an angry, "What gives?"

Mustang didn't reply at first, throwing his cap onto his desk and ripping off the black sash that crossed his chest. Then he turned on the boy, looming over him with a livid expression. "I know you're only thirteen, Edward, but do you have to be so insufferably _immature?_ Act your age, not your height in feet!"

Immediately, Edward surged up again, yelling, "Don't you dare call me short, you giant-"

But Mustang only pushed him forcefully back onto the couch and held him there, glaring down at him. "Spare me," he snapped. "As a child prodigy, you ought to at least understand what day it is." Edward opened his mouth to retort, but Mustang spoke over him. "Remembrance Day. _Remembrance Day,_ Full Metal!"

With difficulty, Edward managed to shrug off Mustang's hands before he could start shaking him. "Is that what this is about? I went to the ceremony, didn't I?"

And a boring ceremony it had been, too. They had to stand in their ranks on the parade grounds for ages; only the higher-ups had the privilege of sitting down on folding chairs. It seemed like every official in existence had marched up to the platform and given some long, dull speech about Ishbal this and patriotism that. Mustang could hardly blame him for complaining loudly to Alphonse afterwards.

But apparently Mustang had other ideas about what he had a right to do. "I know you're not overly fond of convention, but the least you could do is have the decency to wear the uniform this one day out of the year." He cast a disapproving glance over Edward's defiant red and black clothes.

Crossing his arms to make the red more obvious, Edward snorted. "Why? I don't wanna show support for the war that destroyed half my hometown."

Mustang ran an exasperated hand through his carefully combed hair, returning it to its usual, slightly messy, state. "I never agreed with the Ishbal War either, but can't you just show some respect for the men who died in it? Did you hear even _one_ of the thousands of names they read today?"

Edward shrugged uncomfortably, suddenly not wanting to meet his superior's gaze. "Nobody I knew," he muttered.

The reply was quiet, harsh, and acidic. "There were many that _I_ knew. Almost everyone standing there knew at least one man who died in that war, and I know how _disgusted_ they must have been to see you. You, a young man of the generation we fought to protect, standing there bold as brass and refusing to even honor the losses we sustained. Refusing to show the _slightest_ remorse for the men who died even in Risenpool, holding back the Ishbalites so they wouldn't raze your pitiful little sheep-town to the ground."

Edward stared at the floor. He'd never known Mustang was able to make someone suddenly feel so _stupid._ He'd been incredibly selfish, hadn't he? He'd never really considered what it would be like for soldiers who had lived through Ishbal. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

But Mustang seemed to have burned himself out, and he collapsed with a tired sigh onto the couch facing Edward. Pulling off his best military jacket, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and leaned back wearily.

Silence stretched between them, and Edward felt worse and worse as the minutes wore on. He peeked through his bangs at Mustang, whose eyes were closed. In repose, the man suddenly looked much older than he normally did. Mustang was only twenty-seven, but there were slight creases in his forehead and bags under his eyes. The shadows seemed to gather under his cheekbones, contrasting with his pale skin. And Edward wondered what Mustang had looked like on the battlefield, after a hard day of fighting and death.

"I guess..." he murmured softly, and Mustang opened one eye to look at him. "I never stopped to think about it before. 'Cause I don't know what war is like, so it always seems like war is in some far-off land. Like it has nothing to do with me. I guess I don't know anything."

After a moment, Mustang leaned forward again, propping his elbows on his knees. "I suppose I shouldn't expect someone of your age to understand. And I should be grateful that you don't. I can promise you, I would never order an extermination like that, even if I had the authority."

Edward licked his lips nervously, hoping that Mustang wouldn't blow up again. "What _was_ Ishbal like, Mustang?" he asked carefully. He'd always wondered, always been too afraid to ask, always assumed that no one wanted to talk about it. Naturally, he didn't like the idea of war, but he had no real notion of what warfare was like, having grown up far from the front lines except for that one quickly-repelled invasion.

At first, he thought Mustang wasn't going to say anything, but suddenly he began to speak in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "All those names on the monuments...every one belongs to a man. Someone who used to be a living, breathing human being with tastes and desires and a personality. I know they're just names to you, but can you imagine what it's like to someone who knew the man behind the name?

"At every name, even if I never knew that soldier personally, I remember Ishbal. You'd trust these men with your life, you'd go out onto the battlefield and rely on them to watch your back, because if you didn't you'd all be dead. And you go out on the field, rushing the enemy, holding off their fire, and at the end of the day you trudge back to camp and there they are. They're sitting around the campfire with you, and you laugh or talk or just sit there too tired to do anything. But there's something holding you together, because you've just been through hell and survived, and you can tell when you look into his eyes that you've both experienced the same things. You share food and cheap alcohol, you sit around the same fire, you take sentry duty together, you sleep with your backs together because the Ishbal nights are so cold. You learn to recognize their voices and footsteps, because it's like they're a part of you.

"And then there comes a day when you duck and he doesn't, or when a stray bullet zips past you and hits him instead, or an Ishbalite jumps you from behind and he gets the knife, and by the time you realize what's happened it's already too late. Then when you go back to the camp he's not there, and you keep looking up and expecting to see him there, but he never is, and you keep thinking of things to say, things to tell him, but he'll never hear them and suddenly he's not part of you because you're experiencing things he never will."

He stared down at his hands, dangling from his knees and still covered by his immaculate white gloves. His voice grew even softer, and his jaw clenched. "And then you look around, and you realize that the men you're burning to a crisp are just the same. That they have comrades who will look around when the day's done, and will keep thinking of things to say, but they won't be able to because he's gone, because _you_ took him away from them. And every life you snuff out was connected to others, and _every_ Ishbalite enemy you mow down with your superior weaponry and alchemy has allies and friends and a family, and you're tearing them apart forever like they're tearing you apart with every name added to the monuments."

Abruptly, he got to his feet and turned away, busying himself with papers on his desk. "That, Edward, is what Ishbal was like."

Edward stared at his back, not saying anything, and slipped quietly out of the room soon after. He never talked to anyone about what Mustang had said, not to Alphonse, not even to Mustang himself. But next year on Remembrance Day, Edward Elric could be found standing at attention in a newly ironed uniform, black sash crossing his chest and hat clutched respectfully in his hand. And he saluted with the others as the names of the deceased heroes of Ishbal were read off.


	4. Dog

**Author's Note: This feels like it should be the first chapter of a collection like this, but alas, the themes cannot be changed. This is what I think Ed and Mustang's relationship is all about, and the theme seemed to suggest just that to me.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 4: Dog**

"Congratulations. You're now a dog of the military."

With those words, Edward Elric entered into Roy's life. Edward, with all his brilliance, stupidity, idiosyncrasies, and annoyances. Roy soon learned to put up with him, because as the youngest State Alchemist Amestris had ever known, he was the talk of the military. And Roy had found him.

For the first month or so, Roy was just pleased for the leg up Edward had given him with his first few successfully completed missions. It seemed that Edward could do no wrong, even when he went up against angry mobs and conniving officials. His sharp mind would analyze the problem and come up with a solution, and if that solution usually involved his fists and alchemy, then at least he was one of the leading combat alchemists in the country.

But gradually, as Edward and Roy got to know each other more and more, Roy discovered that they'd set up an odd sort of friendship. He easily learned where Edward was the most sensitive, and prodded him with teasing comments until the boy was red in the face. Edward, for his part, came up with several choice insults that he threw at Roy whenever he had a chance, no matter who was present. And yet, beneath the mocking and the rants about height was an understanding born out of familiarity. They were comfortable around each other; they knew what the other would do or say when they met each other.

And then came the day when Roy was scanning the morning newspaper in his office, seeing if there was anything terribly important he needed to attend to. On page 5 he found an article about none other than the Full Metal Alchemist. Curious, Roy folded back the pages and began to read. Soon, his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly read the print. The idiot who had written it criticized Edward in a lofty tone, saying that no self-respecting alchemist would become a dog of the military, that the alchemists' code of honor forbade it. He laid out baseless accusations that the only reason Edward was so successful was because his silver watch artificially amplified his alchemy, and hinted piously that the military had accepted him only because the number of State Alchemists had been going down recently and they needed to bolster their ranks.

After Roy balled the newspaper up, threw it into a corner, retrieved it again, and burned it down to a few ashes curling in the garbage can, he sat back and wondered at his violent reaction. Was it natural to get so worked up just because he'd been the one to find Edward and see to it that he got into the exam with a fighting chance? No, it had to be something else. Something more.

Roy stared blankly at Edward's favorite couch, the one he always flopped down into when he came to report. No matter how many times Roy told him to be careful or he'd ruin the cushion, Edward still dropped down into it exactly the same way. He would sit there, legs stretched out as far as they would go as though to prove he wasn't short, and he'd gripe away or counter Roy's taunts or complain about how a certain colonel was a slave driver. Roy was surprised at the feeling this recollection gave him.

He was fond of Edward.

The next time Edward stomped into his office to report another dead end, Roy contemplated him around the insults they passed expertly back and forth. He _had_ grown a little in the past month, as he was quick to point out, and his hair looked a bit longer. He'd somehow managed to lose his garish red coat, and one of the buckles on his shoes was missing. Yet despite these changes, his mannerisms were the same as ever. The way he held his shoulders, the movements of his hands...

Roy smiled under cover of one of Edward's endless rants about how _not_-short he was. Somehow, as the years had rolled by, he had come to care about the boy behind the success.


	5. Library

**Author's Note: I believe the idea for this one came from one of Shadow Mage Evelyn's fics, but don't quote me on that. Libraries are perfect backdrops for scenes with the Elric brothers, and I realized that for some reason I'd never done one before. This was the perfect chance.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 5: Library**

Edward slammed several more books onto the table, muttering darkly.

"Brother!" Alphonse hissed admonishingly, looking up from the notes he was taking.

"I don't care!" Edward whispered back fiercely, ignoring the annoyed look of a student from the next aisle, as he turned to the back of his book. A library was not the place to be when you were steeped in anger, but the library was basically the only place they ever went these days.

Well. Except for the places they went against their will. It had taken them a whole stinking _month_ to deal with Mustang's latest problem. A whole month that could have been spent researching the Philosopher's Stone, wasted on the politics of the western region, and all designed to make Mustang look better. And did they get a word of thanks for all the trouble they'd gone to? Of course not. It was always, _So I see you've made a few more headlines, Pipsqueak._

"Why does he do that?" Edward grumbled, glaring at the index of his book without taking any of it in.

"Do what?"

With a deep frown, Edward slumped down and rested his chin on the open pages. "Why does he always have to say something about my height? It's like I can't even walk through the door without him making some _hilarious_ joke. I'm not short!"

He closed his eyes wearily, not expecting his brother to answer, because there could be no fathoming that idiot of a colonel. But then Alphonse said softly, "It's because you two are both too proud for him to hug you."

Immediately, Edward straightened up, staring at the suit of armor in bewilderment. "Say _what?_"

Alphonse stared at the pencil between his fingers, spinning it around absently. "It's like...Winry and Granny Pinako. Whenever we go back there, Winry always hits you over the head and Granny scolds you, right? And you get into a fight with Winry, or you just ask Granny what's for dinner. You never say anything like _I missed you_ or _I love you._ Because you think it would be too awkward to actually say that out loud."

Edward's cheeks were blazing, but he wondered if Al was right. They never _did_ tell the Rockbells that they missed them, but it was true. Even after burning their house down, they still had ties to Risenpool, and it would have been strange if they _didn't_ miss the friends who had been as close as family for as long as they could remember. But was that the way it was for...?

"Ah, there you are, boys!"

Edward looked up in surprise to see Mustang standing over them, still in his uniform.

"What are you doing here, Colonel?" Alphonse asked.

"Come to gloat, I bet," Edward growled, turning back to his index.

"No, to tell you the library closes in ten minutes."

Swearing, Edward plunged his hand into his pocket and checked his watch. Sure enough, it was ten to nine already. They would have to come back tomorrow.

"And to invite you to spend the night at my house," Mustang added. "It's much closer than your hotel, so you can take some of these books and keep working. I'll drop you off here on my way to work in the morning."

While Alphonse cheerfully thanked him for his hospitality, Edward squinted suspiciously into his superior's face. Was Alphonse right? Was Mustang actually trying to say that he'd missed them while they were in the western region? That he..._cared_ about them?

Mustang arched an eyebrow down at him. "So what do you say, Full Metal?"

Edward gazed at him a moment longer, then grinned and said, "What's for dinner?"


	6. Always Right

**Author's Note: I originally wanted to write about one of them complaining the other "always had to be right," but I just couldn't come up with the right scenario for it to come up. Finally I thought of Mustang saying, "I'm always right," and cobbled together something with Hughes, because I thought it was high time he appeared.**

**Timeline: Midseries (pre-Lior)**

**Theme 6: Always right**

"Well, I gotta hand it to you, Roy," Hughes said, leaning on one hand to look at him appraisingly. "You were right about him."

Smirking, Roy took a sip of his drink. "I'm always right." He set his glass back down on the bar and watched the way the light made it glow, listening to the soft buzz of it in his ears. Edward had finally returned from his foray to the south, two weeks after he'd been ordered back, bringing with him news of such success no one had dared mention how late he was. General Stoker, who had been fully prepared to send in troops to put down the separatists and rescue the Full Metal Alchemist, had personally commended Roy for finding such an asset to the military. It had been a very good day.

"So how did Ed seem?" Hughes asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"What d'you mean? He gave me the long and colorful version of events, insulted me several times, and went to his hotel. Seemed fairly normal to me."

Hughes was obviously trying to get at something, because he didn't look at Roy. Running a finger around the rim of his glass, he prompted, "And did you...compliment him at all?"

Roy arched an eyebrow. "Compliment him?"

"Yeah. He was pretty amazing this time. Might have prevented another war, almost single-handedly. Did you tell him you were proud of him?"

Roy felt awkward and confused; the alcohol seemed to be muddling his thoughts and he couldn't figure out why Hughes was suddenly demanding all this of him. "I...I don't think he would _want_ something like that, right? He can't stand me."

"That's where you're wrong." Finally Hughes turned to look at him again, and despite the spots of color the alcohol had brought out in his cheeks, his green eyes were as sharp as ever. "He might be too proud to admit it, but you're the closest thing that boy has to a father."

Roy choked on his drink, and Hughes had to thump him on the back. Breathlessly, Roy croaked, "C-Come again?"

Hughes smiled patiently. "Their father left when Ed was – what, four or something? – and ever since then, he's grown up around women. Even his alchemy teacher was a woman, from what I hear. The only male in his life until he became a State Alchemist was his little brother. So you're the first real male role model he's ever had."

Roy thought about the way Edward had yelled at him earlier, and snorted in disbelief. "Role model? Look, Hughes, just because he spent most of his life without a father doesn't make me one."

Hughes shrugged. "Sure, but I've seen the way he looks at you sometimes. 'Course, you never notice, 'cause you've always turned your back by that point...but sometimes, after you've dismissed him, he looks...disappointed. Everyone needs a father, even if he claims he doesn't care. Maybe he doesn't even realize it himself, but he looks to you for approval. And that's something you rarely give him."

Staring into the last bit of his drink, Roy thought over everything Hughes had said. His best friend had an unsettling way of cutting down to the root of the problem and making everyone feel a little guilty for not fixing it. Was this really the source of the tension he often felt when Edward came to his office? "I don't know, Hughes..."

"Well, it's something to think about, at least." Finishing off his drink, Hughes got to his feet and left Roy behind to turn it all over in his head.

And the next time Edward returned from a mission, achieved with flying colors as always, Roy looked up from his report to the scowling boy in front of him and said seriously, "You were excellent, Full Metal."

The scowl on Edward's face slowly faded as their eyes met, and his eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. Just as the silence threatened to become awkward, Roy smoothly added, "For a pipsqueak."

But even while Edward screamed at the top of his lungs, Roy saw the smile playing about his lips. And when Edward left, he carried himself a little taller.


	7. It's Kind of a Fight

**Author's Note: (In case you were wondering, I didn't post a chapter last week because of the holidays. I'm also having major internet problems, so I hope it won't interfere with posting and replying too much.) This was fairly straightforward; I wanted to have some other characters discussing the way Ed and Mustang are always fighting. I also thought I should include some post-Promised Day stuff, rather than all of this fic taking place in the middle of the series.**

**Timeline: Postseries (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 7: It's kind of a fight...**

Even five days later, Lieutenant Hawkeye looked unbelievably weak. Well, maybe not unbelievably. She had, after all, had the artery in her neck sliced almost in half and only escaped with her life because of Mei Chang. Still, it seemed strange to see the normally brisk and active woman now sitting propped up in a hospital bed, her neck and shoulder bandaged and an IV running into her hand.

And yet, Hawkeye could never be idle. She was careful not to disturb the needle taped to the back of her hand, but she was mending her shirt with swift, practiced stitches. It was as though the Promised Day had never happened, as though she had not thrown her entire life away and barely got it back. Maria Ross smiled to herself. Hawkeye had always been an inspiration to her, so it was gratifying that they were now in similar positions.

The two of them, and many more people besides, were only free because no one had been able to figure out who was in charge of the country yet. The Promised Day had not only killed the Fuhrer, but had also plowed through the council till only a few remained, and they were kept under 24-hour surveillance just in case. With half of Headquarters blown away, the entire government thrown into turmoil, and most of the Central troops filling up the hospitals, no one had any time to realize that Maria was a fugitive and had once been sentenced to death. Nor did they have a chance to figure out what to do about Mustang's coup and his soldiers who had gone AWOL to support him.

All hell would probably break loose by the end of the week, once they finally decided who was in charge. Mustang had explained to her that General Grumman would probably try to acquit her or at least lessen the severity of her sentence, and she wasn't too worried on the whole. Her parents had found her yesterday, having heard her voice on the radio. It took a while to explain it all to them, but at least they knew now that she was not a murderer and that she had been perfectly safe all this time.

The sudden sound of raised voices broke the tranquility, and Maria jumped slightly. Turning in her chair next to Hawkeye's bed, she looked in surprise at the door leading to the adjoining room, through which came the unmistakable sounds of a heated argument. It was too muffled to make out the words, but Maria easily recognized the voices of Colonel Mustang and Edward.

When she looked back at Hawkeye, the other woman was smiling fondly and returning her attention to her shirt. "Why do they do that?" Maria blurted out, breaking their silence.

Hawkeye looked up in mild surprise. "Why are they always bickering, you mean?"

"Yes." Maria shifted awkwardly on her chair. "Do they not realize what they've done for each other? They were both indispensable parts of the plan; the colonel orchestrated all of this, and Edward was the one who got rid of that...person. Can't they show some respect, even now, rather than fight?"

Smiling again, Hawkeye snipped off the end of her thread and smoothed out the cloth to examine her work. "It's kind of a fight...but at the end of the day it doesn't really mean anything. You didn't see the look on his face when Edward disappeared to bring Alphonse back. I saw the same look on Mr. Hohenheim's face."

Maria's frown only deepened. "Then why do they act like this?" she asked, waving her hand at the closed door, through which they could now distinctly hear Edward saying sarcastically, "Ha ha, Mustang, that's _really_ funny."

Hawkeye poked her needle into her pincushion and leaned back against her pillows, smiling softly at the door. "It's their way of saying goodbye."

Maria blinked. "Goodbye?"

"Edward can never be a State Alchemist again, so he has no reason to remain with the military. He has his brother to take care of now, after all, and his whole life to live. The colonel understands this, but...I think we'll all miss him."

Maria easily understood what she meant. Edward Elric was the sort of person you either loved or hated, and you often decided which rather quickly. But one thing you could never do was ignore or forget him. He was too boisterous and heroic to allow that. She hadn't even been around him for very long, yet he had been influential in her life.

"So," Hawkeye continued, pausing for a small yawn, "they savor these arguments, because it means nothing has changed. I daresay that if Edward ever comes to visit, they'll start insulting each other on sight. That's how they know everything's right between them." She yawned again, then said, "Here, could you gather up these things, Maria? I think I'll take a nap."

"Yes, sir," Maria said automatically, putting away Hawkeye's sewing kit. And the Lieutenant fell asleep to the lullaby of the heroes of the Promised Day bickering like schoolboys.


	8. No Problem

**Author's Note: So I wanted a desperate, exciting type of chapter to contrast the "normal" sort of chapters where it's just the two of them doing something or other in Central. I also needed a reason for one of them to thank the other and get the reply "No problem." **_**And**_** I needed a plausible reason to not have Al around for most of this, because in most of the fics I've read that put Ed and Mustang into similarly death-defying situations, there's never a really good reason for why Al isn't at his brother's side. Hopefully this will suffice.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 8: No problem**

He registered it with a glance, gauged the speed of the rushing water with a soldier's and a scientist's eye. He barely even thought about it, nothing more than a hasty acknowledgment in his mind: _Deep river. Fast current. Rapids ahead. Avoid._

Roy broke free of the forest's underbrush at last and began to sprint towards the cliff where Edward and Alphonse were desperately fighting Cyril Turner, a dangerous leader of the Blue Squad Rebels. The man who had wiped out a whole battalion of off-duty men, not to mention the family members who had gotten in the way, seemed to have finally met his match in the Elric brothers. Turner was fast, to be sure, and his short swords flashed in the early morning sunlight, but even he couldn't keep up with two enthusiastic boys protected by heavy steel.

Skidding to a halt, Roy poised with his fingers ready to snap, waiting for an opening. His soldiers fanned out in a semi-circle behind him, pointing their guns at the fighting trio, but Mustang called to them, "Hold your fire. We don't want to hit Full Metal." They would cut off Turner's only retreat, and force him to surrender. If he had any shred of honor left – Roy doubted it – he would come quietly once he saw he was defeated.

As the seconds ticked by and the fight continued, its participants seemingly oblivious to the soldiers surrounding them, Roy grew increasingly worried. With plenty of space to maneuver, he was confident the brothers wold be able to subdue Turner or at least tire him, but they were running out of room. Their shuffling feet drew closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and the drop of several feet to the raging-

"_Brother!_"

Alphonse's scream shattered the still mountain air as Edward slammed his shoulder into Turner hard enough to knock him off his feet. But the only place he had left to fall was over the side of the cliff, and as he fell he gripped Edward's arm. The boy fell after him with a yell of surprise and alarm, and they could hear the almighty splash as the two bodies hit the water.

By the time Alphonse started calling for his brother again, Roy had already leapt into action. Before he could think better of it, he tore off his jacket, shirt, and gun belt, kicked off his boots, and raced for the edge himself. He only had time to hear Hawkeye calling out in alarm, "Sir!" before he dove neatly into the river.

The icy chill struck his chest like a physical blow. It was May, but the taller mountains were still capped with snow, and this river flowed from the highest peaks. For a moment or two, Mustang could hardly move from the shock, but he mastered himself, struck upward, and broke the surface much farther downstream than he'd anticipated. He gave himself only a moment to gulp a deep breath, then dove under the surface again. Edward's metal limbs would drag him right down to the riverbed. Ignoring the sting, Roy kept his eyes open as he swam swiftly with the current, scanning the muddy bottom.

He credited pure luck when he saw the red coat sliding along beneath him only seconds later. Edward's arm and leg dragged along the bottom, slowing him down slightly but also serving as twin anchors weighing him down. Roy scooped the boy up in one arm, holding him under the armpits while he struck back upwards with his other arm. Edward was a dead, unmoving weight, and that worried him.

But when he broke the surface again, he saw that he had even bigger worries before him. He had time only to hoist Edward a little higher and take a deep gulp of air before his back slammed against a boulder – hard. His breath left him in a rush, and he briefly ducked under the surface again. When his shoulder banged against another rock and he heard a deafening rushing sound all around him, he knew they had reached the rapids. While kicking to stay above the surface, Roy did his best to protect Edward's head with one arm, and used his other to keep the boy from sinking as well. He tried to keep Edward's automail arm facing towards the rocks, to take the brunt of the collisions, but he could still feel jabs of pain as the water tossed them back and forth.

The next few minutes were a blur of confusion and fear, but after what felt like an eternity, the river slowed down and widened. At first, Roy could do little but keep their heads above the water and gasp in relief, but soon he realized that the ground had lowered to the level of the river. Using what had to be his last surge of energy, he swam for the nearest bank. Within moments, he grabbed a tree root that extended over the water and hauled both of them onto the muddy shore.

With the rush of the rapids in his ears, he hadn't been able to tell, but to his relief he heard Edward coughing and spluttering on the ground next to him. Roy clutched at the gnarly root with one hand and clung to Edward's hood with the other, closing his eyes and breathing in the sweet dry air. So wonderful, even with the smell of river mud and rotting leaves squelching against his bare chest.

But after a minute or two of relief and coughing up water, Roy opened his eyes again and looked at their surroundings. Their legs still trailed in the cold water, and the slope of mud they clung to led up to what looked like much sturdier ground above them, where the forest came to the very edge of the river.

"Come on," he gasped, heaving at Edward's coat and scrabbling for purchase on the slimy ground.

Edward struggled up as well, and finally his right hand grasped dry ground, latching on like a grappling hook. Wordlessly, Edward held out his other hand to Roy, and after much weary scrambling and tugging, they both made it to firm ground carpeted with pine needles. Roy rolled over onto his back and let his whole body fall limp at last as he tried to catch his breath.

"Turner?"

"Think he's dead," Edward panted. "Hit his head on a rock."

Well, that was one of their problems solved. But now that there was no more danger of drowning, Roy realized how _cold_ it was. A breeze slid over his bare, wet skin, and he shuddered at the sudden chill, feeling all his hair standing on end. Then he looked over at Edward and saw that the boy was shivering violently, his teeth chattering loudly.

Much as he would have loved to remain where he was and drift off to sleep, he knew there was much to do still. So he pushed himself laboriously to his feet and limped on bare feet towards a small clearing not far off where the sun shone down cheerfully on the bare ground. He had lost his glove somewhere along the line, and it would be useless now anyway, so Roy drew the circle in the dirt with a twig. After gathering a few fallen branches from the surrounding trees, Roy built up a fire and activated the circle beneath it. Flames immediately licked up the wood, dousing his bare chest with warmth.

But he turned back and shuffled to Edward, who had managed to sit up. After lugging him to his feet, Roy transferred the boy to a seat before their little campfire. Edward held his left hand out to the warmth gratefully.

Roy looked critically at the dirty, dripping boy before him. He doubted they would have to stay here till nightfall, but it might be hours before they were found, and they were in no shape to go tramping all the way back up the river. And he hadn't plucked Edward from the river's hungry jaws only to lose him to pneumonia. So he tugged off the red coat and tied it to the tree next to the river's edge. He made sure to position it so it would be visible from upstream, and so the serpent-cross symbol fluttered in the breeze like a banner. That was their best hope, if their fire didn't make much smoke.

Then he trudged back to the fire and dropped down beside Edward with a wet squelch. He was filthy, he now saw – mud smeared across his chest, blood trickling from several cuts on his arms and shoulders, and his water-logged pants creating a puddle of mud underneath him. But he looked no worse than Edward, whose hair streaked in all directions from his braid, and who was hugging himself tightly and leaning towards the fire. He looked up, teeth still chattering, his eyelids tugging downwards sleepily.

"Thanks," he murmured. "For saving my life."

"No problem." Then Roy began to chuckle wearily, because that was one of the biggest lies he'd ever told. The whole thing had been one huge problem from the beginning. But even though he was cold and dirty and tired, he was glad to know that Edward was safe.

When Roy wrapped an arm around Edward's shoulder and pulled him close against his side, Edward stiffened. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Shared body heat. If you catch a cold, Alphonse will have my hide." And it _was_ warmer to have Edward at his side. To think that he had almost been left to shiver all by himself.


	9. Only

**Author's Note: This one took me a **_**long**_** time to figure out, because it's such a tiny, vague prompt. I really wanted to do something with: "It's only Full Metal." "**_**Only**_** Full Metal? That's like saying, 'Oh, it's **_**only**_** Godzilla." XD Or something like that. But absolutely nothing came to mind to warrant those lines, so I had to look elsewhere. And then this idea hit me; it's so **_**obvious.**_** I mean, this is one of the main scenes between the two of them in the original story that shows what kind of relationship they have. Be aware that this contains quite a few spoilers for the manga/Brotherhood storyline.**

**Timeline: Chapter 63/Episode 31; postseries (spoilers for end)**

**Theme 9: Only**

When Roy saw the shiny head of Alphonse Elric two streets down, he made an abrupt change of plans and took the intersection that would lead him straight to the park where the large suit of armor was standing.

He had never appreciated his subordinates so much as when they were stripped away from him. It would be murder to try to contact Hawkeye, and getting word from the others would be next to impossible. He was reduced to what information he could pick up himself, and that was what had occupied him for the last few days. It would hurt nothing to see what information the Elric brothers could give him. They'd had no chance to exchange information freely since they'd shoved him into a car after the fat Homunculus went crazy.

Pulling up with a screech to the curb behind the bench where the smaller Elric sat, Roy called out the open window, "Full Metal!"

Edward gave the expected response of leaping to his feet and letting out a yelp as though he'd been stuck with a pin. "How'd you find us?" he demanded.

"Find you?" Roy smirked. "Alphonse doesn't exactly fit in."

"That's true," the brothers sighed in unison.

It didn't take much coaxing to get the boys in the car; apparently, they'd been traipsing all over Central for the whole day, looking for someone. As Edward swung into the front passenger seat and Alphonse squeezed himself into the back with difficulty, Roy felt that everything was finally normal again. He might have lost his subordinates, he might have become disillusioned with the entire military brass, the whole world might have been turned on its head...but at the end of the day, Edward Elric was still Edward Elric. It was comforting to think that nothing could really change that.

There were many things Roy disliked about Edward, but one thing he _did_ like was that the boy knew when things were serious. Setting aside the insults and sarcasm the moment the car door closed behind him, he immediately started explaining what had happened on their end. He knew that was why Roy had offered them a lift, and he used the time well. If only he could have been this prompt and succinct for his earlier missions...

"If you find the girl with that cat," Edward concluded, "let me know."

"All right." Roy set the rudimentary sketch aside. "I'll ask around if I get a chance."

Business done, Edward immediately reverted to his usual, annoying self and grumbled, "To tell the truth, I don't wanna be in your debt."

"Speaking of debts," Roy cut in harshly, "give me the money you owe me!"

The last time they had spoken, the brothers had run off at top speed after demanding to borrow all the change he had on him – with no explanation, of course.

Edward clicked his tongue and reluctantly fished for his wallet. "So you remembered, huh? Guess I have no choice."

Roy rolled his eyes and paused to let a large delivery truck cross the intersection ahead of him.

"So how much was it again?" Edward oozed annoyance out of every word. "Five hundred cenz?"

"Five-_twenty,_" Roy snapped. "Don't try to short-change me."

Edward grumbled as he counted out the right number of coins, but instead of dropping them into Roy's extended hand, he just stared at them. Finally, he said, "No, I'm not gonna pay you back after all." And he closed his fist around the coins.

Roy glanced over, surprised at his suddenly serious tone.

"I'll pay you back when you become Fuhrer."

Roy's heart skipped a beat. That wasn't something you said out loud very often, not if you wanted to avoid prison at the very least. But he prided himself on how even his voice was when he asked, "Who told you?"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye. She told me about Ishbal too."

Roy remained silent as he turned down the final street and headed for the large sign advertising the Elrics' favorite hotel. Well, it had been only a matter of time before the brothers knew for sure. He wasn't sorry they knew; Edward was his subordinate, after all, and he always made sure his subordinates were people he could trust.

By the time he pulled up outside the hotel and the brothers clambered out, he had figured out what to say. He looked across the seat and out the other door to Edward. "Full Metal, I'll lend you the money a little while longer. But one day you _will_ pay me back."

Edward smiled, his eyes burning with the same fire that had caught Roy's interest in the beginning. "Sure, but when that time comes, I'll borrow some more. And you won't get that money back till this country becomes a democracy. When I return _that, _I'll borrow some more and make you promise something else."

Roy groaned, leaning against the steering wheel. It made him feel old just thinking about all the work ahead of him. "In other words, you're not going to let me off the hook for a _very long_ time."

Edward snorted. "Got that right. And stop worrying the Lieutenant so much. Thanks for the ride." The last came out rather sarcastic, since he slammed the door with gusto as he said it.

"Yeah, yeah..." Roy set off again, heading to pick up Madeline, who was to tell him where the meeting point with Grumman was. But as he watched the already small Edward grow smaller in the rearview mirror, he knew that the promise Edward had just wrangled out of him so nonchalantly was worth much more than only 520 cenz.

* * *

It took several years, but the day finally came when Roy took up the position of Fuhrer. The former Fuhrer had laid the groundwork well, subtly preparing the council and other officials for his ascension. Half of the council members probably thought recommending him to the position had originally been their idea. Roy had tried thanking Grumman, but all the old man had said was, "What on earth are you talking about?" Then, as he picked up his briefcase and left his office one last time, he called over his shoulder, "You better marry my granddaughter now, hear? I want to see the next generation before I die, and she ain't gettin' any younger!"

But Roy should have known that there was one man who wouldn't clap him on the back and congratulate him for the new stars pinned to his shoulders, or the new ring shining on his finger. After the ceremony, after the well-wishers and sycophants and leering rivals, just when Roy was leaning back in his plush chair and relishing a few moments of peace, the door banged open and Edward Elric strode purposefully in.

Edward was perhaps the only man in Amestris who could have gotten away with that, and Roy waited in slight trepidation. Edward wasn't glowering, not exactly, but he had a dangerously determined look as he stomped up to the desk and slammed his right fist down. Thankfully, his knuckles were made of bone now, not steel, so they didn't dent the newly polished wood. And when Edward lifted his hand again, he left a small pile of coins behind.

"Well, you held up your end of the bargain," Edward said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "520 cenz, as promised."

Roy pocketed the money with a smile. "So we're finally square."

"Not quite," Edward smirked. "I need some cash for the train back home."

"What happened to the bank?"

Edward waved his hand dismissively. "All closed by now. And I'm not gonna wait till tomorrow morning; I promised Winry I'd get home in time for supper tomorrow!"

Sighing with exaggerated irritation, Roy fished out his billfold. He knew Edward had waited till this late in the day just so he could reasonably demand to borrow some money. "How's that?"

Edward stared at the thousand-cenz note in distaste. "This would hardly even pay for _one_ ticket, and I'll have you know I have to switch trains, and what am I gonna do about lunch? Starve?"

"Okay, fine!" Roy slapped several thousand cenz more into Edward's waiting hand.

He grumbled about Roy being stingy even now he was one of the richest men in Amestris, but pocketed the money and didn't ask for any more. "Well," he said, crossing his arms, "You won't see that money again till you make this country a democracy, 'kay?"

Roy rubbed his tired eyes. "You make that sound so easy."

With a loud snort, the other man turned to go. "Look, buddy, you made it through a war, a coup, and tons of struggles for your very life, not to mention helping save the whole world from imminent annihilation. I think you can handle it."

Roy smiled. He guessed it was supposed to be a mark of Edward's maturity that he didn't mention that _he_ had been the one to figure out the plot and defeat Father. "Edward," he called, standing up.

The other man turned around and waited. He was no longer the desperate cripple Roy had met all those years ago. Now he had three limbs instead of two, his left hand bore a ring, and he even sported a beard that put Roy in mind of Hohenheim. But one thing that had never changed was the fire in those gold eyes. It never failed to inspire him, just to look into those eyes that never gave up.

But he didn't say any of that aloud. He just extended a hand and said, "See you around."

To his surprise, Edward slapped the hand away. "Make that new post for a State Alchemist Adviser, and you'll probably see me sooner than you'd like." With that and a small wave, Edward turned and strode out the door.

Roy sat back down behind his desk and found himself gazing fondly at the 520 cenz again. They were probably the exact same coins Edward had pulled out of his wallet that day. The serial numbers were very old; these coins had been out of circulation for years. This particular 520 cenz was simultaneously worthless and priceless.


	10. Love or Like?

**Author's Note: Blaaaaaah. I officially hate this theme now D: I agonized over and over and over again, trying to figure out **_**something**_** to write. So here it is, and I don't like it much, and it's just...a;ldjflsdkjf, just read it.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 10: Love or like?**

Edward had always thought of Roy Mustang as a man who could hold his liquor. He had never cared much for alcohol himself, so he had never joined the other men when they went off on their drinking parties. Even now, in the emotional high of a wedding reception, he had only drunk one glass of champagne for toasts.

So he was taken completely by surprise when someone slung an arm over his shoulders and slurred, "How's it goin', Fll Medal?"

Grimacing at the strong whiff of alcohol that accompanied these words, Edward turned his head to see Mustang slumped against him with a vague smile on his face. He kept talking, but his slurred words were hardly understandable, so Edward tuned him out and looked around for help.

But everyone seemed far too busy celebrating to notice his plight. Breda, Falman, and Fury were sniggering two tables away, their cheeks rosy from the wine and their grins a little too knowing to be of any assistance. Even Alphonse and Winry were no help, since they were out on the dance floor, oblivious. Edward was distracted for a moment, watching his wife laughing as Alphonse twirled her around. Beyond them, Havoc was dancing with his bride, holding her close and turning slowly, even though the music was lively. Havoc had been disgruntled that even Edward, so many years his junior, had beat him to marriage, but now he had finally caught up.

"I love you, man!" Mustang continued, jerking him back to the present. The man was grinning stupidly and resting his cheek on Edward's shoulder, mumbling something about 'lalkummy.' Then he suddenly turned his vacant smile on Edward and said with a hiccup, "How 'bout you, Ed? Love or like?"

"Um...Mustang..." With little success, Edward tried to extricate himself from the older man's embrace. Once again, he glanced around frantically, but no one paid any attention.

Then Mustang started _singing._ "I love youuuuu, you love meeeeee, we're a happy familyyyy..."

Thankfully, Mrs. Mustang appeared on Edward's other side, like a beacon of divine intervention sent to rescue him. Her sharp chestnut eyes took in the situation at a glance, then she pursed her lips and pried her husband away. "Come, _darling,_" she said dangerously, gripping his arm. "I think it's time we went home."

As soon as they left, Alphonse and Winry approached, cheeks flushed happily. Alphonse plopped down at their vacant table and gulped down a glass of water. Slightly breathless, Winry touched Edward's arm and said, "What's up? Your face is as red as that coat you used to wear all the time."

Feeling his face growing hotter than ever, Edward grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the dance floor, since the band had struck up a new tune. "Dance, Winry."

"Oh, but I just-"

"This one's slower anyway," Edward growled and after a glance at his face, Winry fell silent and let him lead her through the steps.

After a minute or two, the constant sight of his beautiful wife in front of him pushed all thoughts of his earlier embarrassment aside, and he didn't feel so hot around the collar anymore.

Winry's eyebrows raised inquisitively when she saw his change of expression, and he smiled back. "Have I told you how beautiful you look today?"

* * *

Bright and early the next morning, Edward got up to mail a postcard. He had chosen his moment carefully. Hopefully this would be delivered at just the right moment when Mustang was holding his aching head, trying to do some paperwork and hoping he hadn't made a fool of himself without remembering it.

Then he would look at his mail, turn over the postcard, and read the unsigned message on the back: _Nice singing voice, MY LOVE._

Banging the door of the mailbox closed, Edward went back inside, whistling cheerfully – until he realized that was the tune Mustang had been singing.


	11. Is It Okay to Cry?

**Author's Note: The origin of this chapter is in Chapter 63 of my other 100 Themes fic, **_**A Hundred Ways to Say You're My Brother.**_** In that chapter, I put Ed in the aftermath of a hostage situation which was very weird because it was extremely traumatizing, yet nobody knew exactly why. For a long time, I've wanted to explore just what happened when Ed was captured. It was actually quite hard to think of something that could be somewhat believable, yet still so traumatizing that it would leave Ed like that. Plus, I had to deal with this line from the previous installment: **_**"'Did he hurt you?' Edward had shaken his head, but his eyes had said, He was going to."**_** So I couldn't just go the route of some kind of physical abuse. In the end, I came up with this, and I should warn you that they start talking about some intense things later on. None of it's in actual description, but they do talk about it. Just so you know. On a lighter note, I actually got all the way through this chapter and closed off the document, feeling all happy with myself for churning it out...only to realize I'd blazed all the way through and completely forgotten to stick in the words of the theme like I normally do DX**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 11: Is it okay to cry?**

Roy dropped his keys on the kitchen table and slumped wearily over the sink, rolling up his sleeves. But somehow he couldn't dredge up the energy to turn on the water. It had been a long, hard week, and only by the urging of all five of his subordinates was he even back home. He'd tried to protest, tried to convince them that he needed to oversee the hunt. But when Lieutenant Hawkeye looked at him with that familiar, steely look in her eyes and said, "You're not capable of overseeing anything on so little sleep," he'd capitulated.

Even now, even when he was so weary he thought he could actually fall asleep standing up, he longed to be back in the thick of the investigation. Julius, the perverted man who claimed he was a scientist, sat warm and cozy in his prison cell, not uttering a single word to explain how he had captured the accomplished Full Metal Alchemist, nor why he had been discovered in the cellar of a run-down apartment building, standing over the boy with a menacing glint in his eye. Nor what he thought he was doing, chaining a fifteen-year-old to a column by his left wrist and taking away his clothes and both automail limbs.

And because he said nothing, there was a strong possibility he would only be punished for kidnap, rather than the mischief Roy was sure he'd been intending. What the exact nature of that mischief was, he had no idea, and every notion that passed through his head only made him feel sicker and more desperate to round up the rest of the criminals, who had at least left a small amount of evidence behind them.

With a soft groan, Roy ran a hand through his oily hair. This case was in his every waking thought, and had begun to haunt the nightmares that plagued what little sleep he allowed himself. He didn't think he would _ever_ forget the look of crazed fear that Edward had first thrown his way when Roy bent down to melt the chain and free him. As though, in the scant week he had been missing, he had forgotten that not everyone was an enemy. He had even started wildly and tried to clamber to his one foot when Alphonse first addressed him, though he immediately relaxed with relief when he saw who it was.

"Mustang?"

Roy jumped and turned around, staring at the boy in the kitchen doorway. Somehow, Edward had seemed smaller ever since they'd found him, and it wasn't just because the criminals had seemed to forget he needed to eat. His baggy black sweat pants and T-shirt, and the golden hair that spilled down his shoulders freely, seemed to make his body even smaller than usual.

But maybe what diminished him the most was his silence. This was the first word Roy had ever heard him speak since the rescue, though Alphonse had assured him they talked some when they were alone. Roy couldn't help being a little frustrated at this silence, for who could give witness better than Edward? Who else would be able to give them the information they needed to seek out the rest of the criminals and mete out their judgment?

But he had to be sensitive to Edward's needs. The boy had been physically unharmed except for the usual pain of reattaching his automail once they found it, but his nerve seemed shattered. Roy reminded himself of this and forced his voice to calmness rather than the near-frantic eagerness he felt. "Yes? What is it?"

Edward fingered the door frame, not looking up at him. "Um...I think I need to...tell you some things. About...what happened. So you can catch 'em."

Roy blinked and tried not to act too surprised. "Anything you want to say, don't hesitate to tell me."

"Yeah." He shuffled his bare feet, staring at his metal toes as though fascinated with the digits he'd had for years. "But...I don't want Al to hear. He doesn't need to know."

Mustang nodded slowly. "All right. I can arrange that."

Edward nodded without looking up, then turned and shuffled back to Roy's bedroom, which he and Alphonse had been occupying lately. Roy watched him till he disappeared around the corner, feeling a shiver of dread run down his spine as he wondered what on earth had happened that was so horrible Alphonse needed to be shielded from it.

* * *

With Alphonse safely sent on an errand to the grocery store, Roy stepped a little nervously into his own bedroom. It looked much the same as it always did, with the addition of a bright red coat draped over the back of a chair. Edward sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. He only looked up when Roy dragged the chair over to sit facing him, and then it was just a quick glance into his eyes and away again.

He took a deep, shaky breath and then said, "I...dunno where to start."

"Why not tell me how they caught you?" Roy said gently. It was hard to keep the eagerness and impatience out of his voice. But it was obvious that Edward needed someone to talk to about what had happened, and he needed to move at the right pace.

"I went to have supper in this cafe," Edward said softly. "Al was still at the library; we were gonna meet up afterwards. But then when I was taking the shortcut to the library, these guys attacked me. I thought they were just muggers, you know? But a couple of 'em knew alchemy, and they surrounded me before I could do much. Then one guy pulled off my arm – like he knew exactly where the catches were. So then I couldn't do alchemy, and they took me to their hideout."

Roy looked up from the notes he was jotting down. "The same place we found you?"

Edward nodded, his voice growing stronger as he continued. "They knocked me out so I couldn't see where we were going, and when I came to I was chained to that pillar. They took my arm and leg, and my clothes." He fingered his shirt with a thoughtful frown. "Julius said it was to convince me."

"Convince you of what?"

After closing his eyes briefly, Edward looked up and met Roy's eyes with a haunted look. "They wanted to make a Philosopher's Stone. They knew me 'n Al were looking for one, and Julius figured that if anyone would know how to make one, it'd be me since I'm a State Alchemist. He said he'd let me go soon as I told him how, or even if I could just point him in the right direction."

Roy stared at him in horror. He was one of the few people Edward had confided in when he'd made his terrible discovery not long ago, so he knew precisely what this meant. If someone as unscrupulous as Julius knew that a Philosopher's Stone required the sacrifice of many human souls...it would be instant carnage.

Edward's eyebrows drew together as if in pain while he continued. "Funny thing was, he already had his ingredients, he just didn't realize it. You know all those missing people lately? Julius and his men captured 'em. They figured, since I'm the 'People's Alchemist', I wouldn't wanna see them hurt, so I'd tell them."

A chill settled in Roy's stomach when Edward stopped speaking. "You didn't...?"

"No," he said, his shoulders slumping in incomprehensible dejection. "I didn't."

He was silent for several minutes, and Roy was afraid to break the silence. But just when Roy was about to prompt him again, Edward spoke in tones softer and more anguished than anything Roy had heard yet. "So when they knew I knew but wouldn't say, they started torturing the prisoners. Made me watch. They started with little things. Beat a guy up. Broke a lady's finger. Then it got worse." He gulped, and checked to make sure Roy was writing down everything he said. "There was this kid – he looked like fourteen or something – and they burned the soles of his feet. He was screaming a lot. They cut one man's whole arm off, and didn't even give him anything to stop the bleeding. The other prisoners looked out for him, though. As best as they could."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Edward clenched his fists on his knees. "I wanted to make it stop, but how could I tell them what they wanted? They'd just have turned around and killed everybody! I told 'em that – that there was no way they could survive if I told, 'cause then they wouldn't be useful anymore. But I bet they hate me. It's all my fault!"

Roy set aside his notes and leaned forward. "Don't tell yourself that." He realized that Edward was blinking rapidly and pressing his lips tightly together, and continued gently. "Staying silent was the best thing you could do, Edward; we can hope they still survive, and when we catch up to them, we can help them recover. If you had told the criminals the secret of the Stone, they would already be-"

"But some of them _are!_" Flesh and metal fingers gripped his hair, as if he wanted to tear all of it out by the roots. "That guy...they chopped off his arm, and even though people were ripping up their clothes so they could help him, and he _still_ died! One guy whose fingernail was all broken and sharp somehow killed himself with it so they couldn't hurt him anymore. And then...this girl..."

His voice broke, and it took several minutes of breathing deep and hard before he could speak again. "Her name was...Annie. Couldn't be older than twelve. Her mom was there too, and she kept...screaming when they tried to get Annie. 'Take me instead! Please! Just don't hurt her!'"

On impulse, Roy moved from his chair to sit next to Edward on the bed. The boy was gulping down his emotion and breathing as hard as if he was running away.

"But they didn't listen. They pulled her away, put her in the middle of the room. M-Made me watch. A guy was holding my head so I couldn't look away. And then they...they..._raped her._" The last words came out in a whisper, closely followed by a sob that shook his whole body.

Roy stared at Edward, who was crying for all he was worth. He was strongly reminded of the time Shou Tucker had transmuted his own daughter into a chimera, who had soon after been brutally murdered. A four-year-old girl, adorable and indiscriminately loving, reduced to a heartless splotch of blood on a concrete wall. Edward was reacting the same to this Annie, even though he didn't know her. Not only because what had happened to her was pointlessly cruel, but because he felt responsible for it.

The boy turned a helpless, tear-stained face to him, and the question in his eyes was almost audible: _Is it okay to cry?_ As if any of this was his fault. As though he had no right to give way to his emotions while they were still out there, suffering and dying just because he wouldn't tell Julius what he wanted to hear.

Edward kept stammering through his tears, as though trying to vindicate himself to Roy. "I-I kept on telling them to s-top, but they just kept on...one after another...and when they were done, she was...dead. A-And then everyone else ran off, but Julius stayed, an'...an' he said...ev-ry-thing he'd done to _them,_ he'd do... Bu-But then you 'n Al came..."

Roy shut the boy up by drawing him close and holding him tight. He'd stopped making much sense anyway.

"Scared," Edward managed to get out between his sobs and the folds of Roy's shirt.

Edward wasn't trying to break away as Roy had half-expected him to do, so he maintained his hold. "That's natural, Edward. _Anyone_ would be frightened in such a position. But you're not the one at fault here. _They_ are. We can't do anything for Annie or the others-" a muffled sob "-but we _can_ find these criminals and see that they pay for what they've done. I promise you, they _will_ pay."

Finally, Edward began to pull away, and Roy immediately released him. But before either of them could begin to feel awkward or embarrassed, Edward murmured, "Thanks." And for the first time, Roy dared to hope that everything would be all right.


	12. Good Luck Charm

**Author's Note: Well, this one was a drag DX Neither of the two seem the type to really keep lucky charms, nor could I think of any scenario where one of them would give a good luck charm to the other. Eventually I came up with this, but I hate this chapter. It's awful and boring, but at least it's short.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 12: Good luck charm**

_For feathersnow, brainstormer extraordinaire_

"Yo, Ed, Al! I didn't know you were in town already."

"Hello, everyone," Alphonse said politely, bowing slightly to the room at large.

"Yeah well, it was another wild goose chase," Edward growled, ignoring the greetings of all the soldiers in the room.

He slouched over to the door leading to Mustang's inner office, but Hawkeye, who was nearest, told him, "The colonel just left to go to the lavatory, but he should be back in a few minutes."

Edward turned, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Oh, okay." He looked at the others; Alphonse was chatting happily with Fury about Hawkeye's dog Black Hayate, who had become something of a mascot for them. "I guess I'll just go on and wait for him, then."

When Hawkeye nodded and returned to her paperwork, Edward pushed open the door and entered the inner sanctuary of Colonel Roy Mustang. He took his customary position on one of the dark green couches in the middle and sat there for a minute, waiting.

But he was too worked up to sit still for long. He'd come here expecting to bang loudly into the room as usual and shout some of his feelings at the one person he could turn into a scapegoat. But without Mustang here, all he could do was dwell on how they had failed – again – to find the Stone.

Huffing irritably, Edward got to his feet and paced around the room, searching for something to distract himself with. Eventually he sat down in Mustang's comfortable chair and spun himself around boredly. When Mustang still hadn't returned, Edward's hands strayed to the drawers of the desk. He wasn't normally a nosy person, certainly not the type to go snooping around in someone's desk unless they were a criminal or had information on the Stone. But he had no such inhibitions when it came to Colonel Mustang, and he was taking too long anyway.

The contents of the colonel's drawers were mostly uninteresting – paperclips, blank envelopes, spare ignition-cloth gloves...then he opened the smallest drawer on the top, and at first it seemed to be empty. But when he shoved it closed, he heard a rattling sound and fished around in it curiously. He pulled out a small pendant on a thin chain, and leaned back in the chair with his feet propped up on the desk to examine it.

The chain was broken, he saw, which might account for its presence in a desk instead of around someone's neck. It was made of a smooth, dark, shiny wood, carved in a curious shape. It was an ovalish shape, with tufts on the top and a circle in the middle. Kind of like an eye. An animal eye, he thought. A bird's eye. Something about it reminded him of an eagle's eye. Or a hawk's...

Just then the door opened and Mustang finally came in. He blinked in surprise, then scowled, to see Edward in his chair. "Just what do you think you're-"

"Hey Mustang, what's this?" Edward held up the pendant.

Mustang immediately lunged forward, squealing, "My good luck charm!"

Edward pushed off the desk with his feet, sending the chair sliding back into the wall and out of Mustang's reach.

"G-Give it back!" The color was rising in Mustang's pale cheeks, and he seemed to be attempting a stern look as he frantically snatched at the chain.

Edward grinned, his instinctive response to anything that embarrassed Mustang. "Not until you tell me what it is. A lucky charm? How unscientific..."

"Look, it just has...sentimental value..."

His grin widened. "Sentimental..._romantic_ value?" He dangled the eye just out of the colonel's reach.

Mustang's face was such a satisfying shade of bright red that Edward didn't even mind when the man leapt around the side of the desk and snatched the charm away. At last he had some dirt on Mustang.


	13. Practical Joke

**Author's Note: Okay, I officially hate the EdWin 100 Themes. I've never played a practical joke in my **_**life,**_** and I don't think any have ever been played on me either. (Dude, I must live a really boring life or something.) So I always find writing about that kind of thing tough. This took a lot of thought, but finally I found a way to make it angsty, and I could write it. I can do angst, but not humor so much.**

**Also, I don't know if everybody knows how I do this, but I like to write chapters ahead of time, so that I can keep on posting regularly. Unfortunately, I haven't been writing these quite as fast as I'd hoped - I'll blame the sheer impossibility of the themes lately. So I've decided to post every _other_ week instead of every week like I've been doing. If I get far enough ahead - say, ten chapters or so - I'll go back to posting every week. I don't know about you, but I would certainly prefer getting regular updates, even if they're more sporadic, to having to wait an indefinite time each chapter.  
**

**Timeline: a few months after "Childhood friend"**

**Theme 13: Practical joke**

_For feathersnow, who saved my bacon once again_

He never saw it coming. There was nothing in Edward's manner to suggest anything out of the ordinary. The boy glowered and sent scathing looks his direction, but he always did, so Roy didn't think anything of it.

They were smoking out some terrorists that day; the number of uprisings seemed to have risen dramatically in the past year alone. Roy was in joint command of the operation, together with Colonel Waters, a competent man he respected. Roy had all his subordinates in on the operation, and because Edward and Alphonse were in town, he included them as well. He and Edward had tried to make Alphonse stay behind, since he wasn't officially a member of the military, but he would not be dissuaded. Still, it would be a tremendous help to have three combat alchemists on his team, rather than just two.

At first, it seemed alchemy wouldn't even be necessary. The terrorists hiding out in the abandoned train yard were incompetent and easily rounded up; Roy only had to command his troops and observe from the rear. But then they rounded a pile of slag and an overturned, rusting engine and ran into a tight knot of fighters, all armed with the newest repeating rifles.

Roy dove for cover behind the engine as bullets pinged against the metal. But he wasn't worried. He could easily handle small groups of people gathered closely together. Pulling his glove from his pocket, he slipped it onto his right hand as usual, waited for a lull in the gunfire, and leapt out from behind his cover.

He only realized something was wrong when he snapped his fingers confidently and felt them slide clumsily past each other, rather than the rough cloth catching and creating a spark. Appalled, he flipped his hand over and saw that the back of his hand was covered with smooth white cotton, with no trace of the transmutation circle he had stitched so carefully all those years ago. And then, before he had time to try to comprehend what had happened, a sudden pain exploded in his side.

"_Colonel!_" Hawkeye's scream seemed to come to him from across a measureless chasm, and he felt the whole world tip.

Roy had just enough strength and clarity to push his weight to the right, so he would fall mostly behind the cover of the train, and he felt frantic arms catch him, dragging him out of danger. With colossal effort, he made his eyes open and saw Hawkeye wavering above him like a candle flame. Then she turned away, leaving his range of vision. Chaotic sounds erupted all around him, but they were meaningless and muffled and all that mattered was the dull ache of agony in his side that throbbed with every beat of his heart. He could hear his breath rushing through his lungs, catching in his throat and drowning out everything else.

But he could faintly hear her voice above everything else, shouting meaningless words to someone over the crash and roar of battle. Battle. He had to fight. Opening his eyes again, Roy gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus. He turned his head, and saw both hands gripping his blood-sodden side. He could feel his warm blood seeping through the fingers of his left hand, and he could see the blank white expanse of the glove on his right.

His fingers didn't seem to want to obey him. He tried to focus on drawing his blood across the white cloth, filling in that empty space with the circle that would solve all their problems. But he only succeeded in making a few vague smudges, as his hands shook violently and pain made every breath an effort.

Then someone was touching him, pushing his arms down, lifting him up, and he had no strength left to resist. The world spun around him sickeningly, and he tumbled end over end for what felt like forever until he felt something pressing against his side. He couldn't open his eyes again, but he felt hands moving around him, voices talking amongst themselves and making no sense. They were moving him again, setting him down, then there was a low rumble and a sickening lurch that made his whole side scream in protest. Letting out a grunt, his eyes flew open just long enough to settle on a face swaying above him: Edward, staring at him with his face white as a sheet. Then oblivion settled on him.

* * *

Slowly, Roy opened his eyes. He saw nothing but white at first, a stark contrast to the darkness that had previously claimed him. He wondered if the lethargy he felt meant he was drugged. Then he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, and he knew who it was before she said, "I'm glad you're awake."

He turned his head sluggishly to face her. Definitely drugged. But he managed a small smile when he saw the look of utter relief on Hawkeye's face. "What happened?" he groaned.

"Well...you were shot, sir..."

"I know _that._"

"The mission was a success."

"You're not telling me what I want to know."

Hawkeye paused, obviously weighing something in her mind, then she sighed and said softly, "Edward asked to see you as soon as you were conscious, sir. He was very anxious about your health."

Roy frowned, feeling less groggy already. He met her gaze, silently questioning, and she nodded grimly. Sighing, Roy rubbed his eyes with a hand hooked up to an IV. "Well, help me sit up and call for him, I guess."

The pain that pierced him as Hawkeye gently raised him against the pillows lashed through the haze of medication, but at least he would be able to focus better on the conversation that would follow. Leaving him to clutch his bandage and grimace in silence, Hawkeye left to fetch Edward.

When at last the boy stepped through the door, he looked at Roy sitting up in bed and advanced as though headed towards his execution. If the situation were not so serious, Roy might have teased him, but instead he waited in silence until the boy stood at the foot of the bed, looking subdued without his trademark red coat.

"Well?" Roy asked softly.

"I..." Edward cleared his throat. "I was the one who switched your gloves."

The silence descended heavily on them in the wake of this admission. Edward stared at the lumps in the blanket that were Roy's feet, and Roy gazed at the top of his golden head. He wondered how to handle this. Part of him wanted to yell at the boy, asking him how he could be so _stupid_ and what on _earth_ had he been thinking...but he saw the slump of Edward's shoulders and knew the boy was sorry.

Edward echoed his thoughts, blurting out, "I'm sorry! It was supposed to be...a practical joke, but... It was stupid, I know it was, and...I'm sorry."

Sighing, Roy tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he said, "I forgive you, Edward, but...why did you do it?"

Edward hunched his shoulders, staring at his own feet now. "You were...teasing me 'bout Winry...so I wanted to get back at you. I...didn't think it'd be that bad."

Roy fought the urge to roll his eyes. What had he expected to happen, anyway? And then he remembered what Edward was referring to – the time his teasing comments had thrust Winry into a hostage situation and given Edward a broken collarbone. All the guilt and shame he thought had drifted away in the intervening months since then returned to him full force, and he realized that he knew exactly what Edward was feeling.

Then Edward lowered his head so his bangs completely obscured his eyes, and his voice lowered to a tiny murmur. "You...hate me now, don't you?"

"No, I don't." When Edward peeked up at him in surprise, Roy raised his eyebrows. "You seriously thought I'd hate you?"

"Yeah."

Roy tried to lean forward, but his side burned again and he relaxed against the pillows again, trying not to grimace. "Look, Ed," he said when he had his breath back. "What part of _I forgive you_ don't you understand? I wish you hadn't done it, obviously." He winced and pressed a hand against the stiff bandage at his side. "But I'm not going to take it out on you. I know you weren't _trying_ to kill me."

He gave Edward a wry smile, which the boy returned reluctantly. "Just let this be a lesson to you, all right? You need to think ahead, think about the consequences of your actions. Do you understand me?"

"Yes..._Dad._"

It was a far cry from his usual aggressive sarcasm, but his smile became genuine and the guilt lifted from his shoulders. They never mentioned this incident again, but when Roy left the hospital and saw Edward again, there was an added understanding in their eyes.


	14. Confrontation Just Between Us

**Author's Note: Finally, an **_**angsty**_** theme! I was thinking about other important in-canon scenes between these two characters, like the 520-cenz promise one, and one of the main ones that came to mind was this scene. I think this is one of the defining moments of Mustang's character, a point where he had to make a crucial decision. When I read this scene in the manga the first time, I felt like his entire character had been leading up to this point the whole time. So because Ed was there to witness it, I leapt at the chance of exploring this.**

**Timeline: Chapter 94/Episode 54**

**Theme 14: Confrontation/Just between us**

How had it come to this?

Edward could still remember the day Roy Mustang stomped into his life, as vividly as if the man had just slammed the door behind him. He had been stewing in his own despair at the time, slumping in a wheelchair as though his guilt was a palpable weight on his shoulders. All his purpose seemed to have seeped out of his world, and everything surrounding him seemed washed out and grey.

Then Mustang appeared, bursting through the door with no warning. He grabbed Edward by the shirt, pulled him up so their eyes were level, and shouted in his face, "What did you _do?_ Did you perform human transmutation? Answer me!"

And as Alphonse explained, as they all discussed the future over his head, Edward watched Mustang through his straggling bangs. He took in the man's crisp blue uniform, his calm and collected face after his initial outburst. The strong, confident hands that gestured as he spoke, laying out the benefits of being a State Alchemist. The glitter every time he shifted in his chair, the sunlight flashing on the silver chain leading into his pocket. His voice, assured and charismatic, quietly urging without seeming to manipulate.

And his eyes, those deep, ebony eyes, so dark they almost seemed as black as his hair. When he looked into those eyes, he saw a solid determination that would not be turned aside no matter the obstacle. He saw a future.

Even as Mustang spoke, Edward realized that he wanted that determination. Here was a man who had seen the worst and not given up, and how could he, Edward, do any different? He was at fault for what he had done to Alphonse, but how could he _ever_ give up until he paid for those mistakes? No, he would become a State Alchemist like this Roy Mustang, and the same fire would burn within his heart that he saw in those dark eyes.

As Edward got to know Mustang, he ceased to look at him as a role model. He saw Mustang's failings and learned all his irritating habits and mannerisms. He discovered Mustang's ambitions and realized that all along, he had never been more than a rung in Mustang's ladder to the top. But he put up with him, because his position as Mustang's subordinate was all that allowed him to search for a way to get his brother back to normal.

Yet as time continued to pass, as he and Mustang learned how to tease and insult each other best, a familiarity grew between them. They knew what the other would say when they met, and they knew how the other would react. In the constantly changing world of a wanderer, Roy Mustang remained the same. Without intending to, Edward began to count on this. He started to rely on Mustang's teasing constancy, because when he could trust no one else in the military, he knew he could turn to Mustang.

That trust had grown more and more important. Enemies sprouted up all around them, and it became increasingly clear that they were the few standing in the way of mass destruction. They shared the deadly secrets they had uncovered, fought side-by-side, even saved each other's lives.

Edward thought he had known Roy Mustang. He thought he had understood the thirty-year-old colonel with the dashing smile, the powerful alchemy, the resolve to become Fuhrer, the compassion for the innocent and desire to protect the ones under his authority. He thought he could depend on this man.

Yet now Mustang stood before him, wearing his uniform as always, fingers poised to snap like so many times before...but he had the face of a stranger. There was no hint of the teasing smirk, the sharp focus of attention, or the heroic desire to protect those dear to him. His smooth, young face was twisted into a ferocious grimace, and his eyes...his eyes were black holes that sucked out everything of his soft humanity, leaving behind nothing but an empty husk of a monster.

"Give him to me, Full Metal," Mustang growled through his teeth.

Edward planted his feet, firmly gripping the tiny form of Envy in his automail fist. "No."

Mustang's mouth worked, and for a moment silence rang out in the narrow stretch of stone hallway between them. Then he smiled, a hideous stretching of his lips that reached nowhere near his eyes. "So," he said quietly, "it's just between us, eh Full Metal? Don't be difficult. That _thing_ deserves a painful, humiliating death, so _give him to me._"

Edward felt his jaw aching from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. But Hawkeye, standing behind Mustang, hadn't pulled the trigger yet, so he could hope that all was not yet lost. "I won't," he said calmly.

And suddenly Mustang was shouting at him. "Give him to me right now, Full Metal, or I'll burn your arm off with him!"

"Go right ahead!" Edward yelled back. Anger boiled up inside him, burning away the fear he felt as he saw the heartless grimace on Mustang's face. "Go ahead and burn me down to ashes, why don't you, and then what'll you be? A monster, just like them! You said you felt like a human when you were fighting the Homunculi, but you know what, you're exactly the same. _Exactly!_ So you're gonna kill Envy, huh? But you're not doing it 'cause he's helping that Father guy, are you, or 'cause he's about to kill somebody, or even because it'll get you a promotion! You're just doing it 'cause you're _angry._ What kind of a reason is that, Mustang? How does that make you _any_ better than _this?_" He gestured with the fist holding Envy, ignoring the creature's cries of protest. "Kill Envy, and you'll be no better than him when he killed Hughes."

At the mention of that name, Mustang snarled and raised his hand, about to snap. Hawkeye raised her gun, pressing the barrel to the back of the colonel's neck and releasing the safety. Edward could see her face, could see the naked fear in her eyes as she teetered on the brink of utter despair. Alphonse had told him how much she had cried when she thought Lust had killed Mustang. "Please, sir..." Her voice was trembling, and Edward couldn't tell from where he stood, but he was willing to bet her hands were as well. "Envy cannot be allowed to survive...but let me...let one of us destroy him. You're too emotionally involved in this. Vengeance..." Her voice broke, and she dropped her head, though not the gun in her hand. "Colonel, please...don't go where I can't follow."

Edward glared at Mustang, hating the monster that had claimed this man and put Hawkeye through this. As though Mustang hadn't put her through enough already. He was always worrying her, always putting himself at risk and forcing her to put back the pieces. And now here she was, faced with either killing him herself or watching him turn into a man she could never respect, never follow again.

And _he_ would lose Mustang too. There would be no more light-hearted banter, no more implicit trust, no more relying on Mustang to know what to do. No matter what happened, Roy Mustang would be dead to them all. So Edward glared at Mustang, willing him to understand, to see everything he would abandon if he followed the path of vengeance.

Mustang's face was still twisted in a grimace as though he had been stabbed within an inch of his life, and his eyes were screwed shut. He raised his right hand. His thumb pressed against his middle finger, his forefinger curling back like a snake ready to strike. Transfixed, Edward watched that hand hovering between them like a wall of fire cutting him off from the other man. It trembled, as the thumb pressed harder and harder.

When the _snap_ echoed around the hallway, Edward flinched despite himself and Envy let out a little squeal of fright. But no blistering wave of heat slammed into him, no flames licked up his body, no almighty force wiped his existence off the face of the planet. With a dull _boom,_ a wall on one side exploded and stone blocks crumbled to dust.

When the clouds of smoke cleared, Mustang stood among the wreckage, arms held limply at his sides. Hawkeye still stood there, staring at him in shock with her gun pointing at his head. But Mustang turned to face her, closed his hands around hers, and pushed the gun down. He looked around at them all and murmured, "I've been such a fool."

He looked as exhausted by this confrontation as Hawkeye, but there was a light behind his eyes again. The light of determination, a steady flame burning in the depths of his dark eyes. A human warmth in the lines of his face as he murmured an apology.

Roy Mustang lived again.


	15. Worry

**Author's Note: After writing the previous chapter, I wanted to do a similar scene from the first anime. Somehow, this theme soon brought to mind the part where Ed and Al are running from the military. I've never liked the last ten or so episodes of the first series, but I **_**have**_** always liked this scene for the Mustang characterization. I also think that Travis Willingham's lines in the English dub of this scene are some of his very best, which is why I included a direct quote. For most of the rest of this chapter, I just made stuff up while keeping to the main idea of the original scene :P**

**Timeline: Episode 43**

**Theme 15: Worry**

With a blast of fire, Roy blew apart the large slab of stone Armstrong had transformed behind the Elric brothers. When the dust cleared, revealing the two of them huddled in a heap on the ground, Alphonse bending over Edward to shield him from the falling debris, Roy stepped forward. The boys straightened up, looking up at him warily. But they did not try to attack again.

The very thought of them attacking filled Roy with fury all over again. In their desperate attempt to escape his clutches, they had wounded both Havoc and Fury – men they had known and liked for years. This was what fear did to them. "Are you quite finished?" Roy growled out, glaring at Edward. He knew the older brother was the one to blame; Alphonse always tagged along.

"We're not going back with you!" Edward yelled as Roy took another step forward. "Say what you want, but we're _not!_ Hear me?"

"Shut – your – mouth," Roy snapped, closing the distance and glaring right back. "When did I _ever_ say that I was taking you back to Central?" He watched with satisfaction as Edward's eyes widened in surprise. "But of course, your big mouth prevents you from listening to anyone, and you act before you can think. So you ran. You ran away from me!"

His voice was rising, and Hawkeye said softly behind him, "Sir, maybe you should-"

But he ignored her, grabbing the front of Edward's shirt and shouting in his face. "W_hy the hell did you two run away without asking for my help first?_ Did you think I would turn you in? Don't _insult_ me, Full Metal! Do you know how much I _worry_ about you when you're off running about and upsetting every nest of trouble in the entire country? How could you think that I wouldn't care? I come here prepared to help you hide, to fend off the investigation and lead it astray, and you retaliate and wound two of my subordinates!"

Edward's head was bowed, hiding his expression from sight. "I didn't mean to hurt Havoc and Fury," he murmured.

With a frustrated sigh, Roy let Edward go and turned aside, running a hand through his hair and staring at the rushing river a few feet off, as if they could drown all their troubles in its depths. "Why don't you trust me, Edward?" he said, forcing his voice to lower and grow calm. Shouting would get him nowhere, though he _was_ more ticked off than he could remember being in a long time. He had been so worried when he came down to the stretch of sand that had once been Lior, and realized that Scar had activated the circle. That Edward and Alphonse could be dead, and he had allowed it to happen. And then the next thing he heard was that the two had been sighted fleeing the battlefield, looking guilty and leaving him no explanations.

"I follow my orders, true," Roy said softly. "But I swore to myself that I would never follow unreasonable commands again. Not after what I did in Ishbal. I know you better than any of my commanders do, and I know you would never willingly cause destruction like what we saw in Lior. So I will _not_ let them catch you and throw you in prison without at least a fair trial and evidence to back you up. Tell me your situation, so I can protect you."

He turned to look at Edward again as he finished, and the boy was frowning up at him with a look of indecision. Then he briefly closed his eyes and murmured, so low that only Roy and Alphonse could hear, "We have the Philosopher's Stone that Scar transmuted. But the Homunculi are after it, so we had to run for it."

Roy's breath caught in his throat. They had almost achieved their goal. All it would take was the time to perform the transmutation, and they would have their bodies again. Of course, they would never be safe or free to do so until the Homunculi were destroyed, so for now all they could do was run and hide. "Very well," he said in a normal voice, squaring his shoulders. "Go home, both of you. I'll head off the soldiers from Central, say you headed north. Keep a low profile until I contact you. All right?"

Edward and Alphonse exchanged a look, then slowly nodded. He nodded back, and was about to turn and head back down the mountain, when he noticed the emotion in Edward's golden eyes. Worry.


	16. From Now on, Too

**Author's Note: This stupid little thing took me _forever_ to come up with DX The theme sounds kind of similar to the three Royai themes "From yesterday," "Now," and "Tomorrow, too," so at first I thought I'd have to write something like that. But when absolutely nothing came to mind, I had to turn elsewhere. The prompt also made me think of a line in the English dub of the first anime, when Ed finally finds out about Hughes and realizes that Mustang had been keeping the truth from him: "From now on, I hate him." That kind of morphed into this chapter. I worked pretty hard to make sure this scene could plausibly happen in the manga, in between what you see on the page.**

**Timeline: Chapter 48/Episode 23**

**Theme 16: From now on, too  
**

Roy turned off his car and got out, wincing slightly as the muscles in his abdomen pulled beneath the bandage. He surveyed the abandoned, rickety cottage at the edge of the forest and was satisfied to see that no light shone from the windows. He recognized the shape of the convertible Hawkeye had commandeered earlier, now hidden behind a corner of the building, so he knew they were all here.

He turned his mind to the plans they had made as he approached the seemingly-empty cottage. The Homunculus was in there now, immobilized and waiting for interrogation, for its Philosopher's Stone to be used. Maybe now Havoc-

"Hey, Mustang," Edward suddenly spoke up behind him. "Can I have a word with you in private?"

Roy turned in surprise, but Edward's face was in shadow and he couldn't make out his expression. "Of course," he said after a moment, recovering himself. "We can talk in one of these front rooms; Hawkeye and the others are in the back. Your patient will be back there," he added to Dr. Knox, who was standing reluctantly by the car.

The old coroner merely grunted and slouched through the rickety front door.

"I'll stay out here and make sure nobody followed us," Alphonse announced, leaving Roy to hold open the door for Edward.

They made their way into a dark, empty room, and Roy waited expectantly for his companion to speak. But Edward only strode over to the window which was largely intact, and gazed at the lights of the city. "What's this all about, Full Metal?"

The silhouette of Edward's shoulders slumped slightly. When the boy spoke, it was in a soft, nervous voice. "You hate me, don't you?"

Roy paused a moment, wondering if he'd heard right. "Why do you say that?" he asked slowly.

"Because I'm the one who killed Hughes."

For one wild, blind moment, the entire world turned on its head and tumbled Roy about like a ball. "What do you mean?" He was surprised at how even his voice was.

Edward turned to face him, and now Roy could see a little of his anguished expression. "Hughes was killed because he found out something too dangerous Something me n' Al started to uncover. If...If it hadn't been for us...then he would have..."

Roy's pounding heart settled down, and he chided himself for that momentary belief that Edward was even _capable_ of cold-blooded murder like that. "How could you think I would _hate_ you for that?"

Edward frowned and turned away, becoming a mere silhouette again. "Well...I know you've never really liked me. And I...I threw this all in your face about Maria Ross and everything, even though it was all my fault. So I figure...you'll continue with the whole friendly banter thing, but you'll hate me from now on, too."

Edward Elric's ability to find himself at fault was legendary. Roy let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face. "I don't blame you for it, Edward. If I'd known you'd take it this hard, I would have cleared that up sooner." He fell silent, but Edward just stood picking at the ancient, peeling wallpaper.

As Roy thought of what else he could say, as he thought of his best friend who had been dead for months now, a painful lump grew in his throat. After swallowing hard and taking several deep breaths, he was able to control his voice enough to say, "Hughes...was always gong to die for his friends. That was just the sort of person he was. He lived...and died...for the people he loved." His throat tightened again, and he cursed himself for letting his emotion get the best of him.

"I'm sorry," Edward murmured, hanging his head. "he was your best friend, wasn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

Roy cleared his throat irritably. "Stop that. The last thing Hughes would want is for you to blame yourself. Or for me to blame you. The only one at fault is the monster who fired that shot. And with this Homunculus in our grasp, we have a chance to capture that person. So come on." He headed towards the door. "let's go join the others."

As they strode towards the single lighted room at the back, Roy glanced back at Edward trailing behind and saw the boy swipe his hand across his eyes. He thought at first that Edward was crying, but when his hand dropped back down, all he could see was relief.


	17. Memo

**Author's Note: Apologies for the slight delay in posting; I was having issues with the site. At Hughes's funeral, Mustang says something like, "Why didn't he tell me? Maybe I could have done something." That led, in a roundabout way, to this idea – what if Mustang ****_had_**** known? What if he ****_had_**** done something? I also tried to incorporate an idea of a conversation using memos, but kind of failed miserably. Anyway, those who are familiar with my writing will probably not be surprised with this chapter, because it had to happen eventually.**

**Timeline: Midseries (around Episode 25/Chapter 16/Episode 10)**

**Theme 17: Memo**

Tentatively, Alphonse opened the door to the dorm room he shared with his brother. Edward had ignored and rebuffed him all week, and he was afraid of an outburst. When he had tried to give some words of comfort after the ceremony that afternoon, Edward had run off as though trying to set some kind of record.

But when he peeked around the door frame, he saw that his fears were unfounded. Edward was asleep at the little desk under the narrow window, using a notebook for a pillow. Alphonse tiptoed inside, closed the door softly behind him, and approached his brother. Ever since they'd been called back to Central, Edward had spent all his time at that desk, scribbling furiously and grimly ignoring everything around him. Because he was Mustang's only alchemist subordinate, he'd been given the task of going through these papers, and Edward had thrown himself into the task with unprecedented enthusiasm.

Alphonse gently began to gather Edward into his arms without waking him. He knew the reason his brother was focusing so hard on his job, and why he refused to let Alphonse help. It was so he wouldn't have to think about what had happened. How it was all their fault. Carefully, Alphonse transferred Edward to his bed and pulled up the covers. All week, he'd been forced to sit through every long night and turn it all around in his mind, over and over again.

It was definitely their fault. If they hadn't insisted on investigating Lab 5 even when they had discovered the horrible secret of the Stone...if they hadn't let Mustang take charge...if they hadn't blithely traipsed off to Dublith, rather than sticking around to help and fight at his side...

Alphonse sighed, watching his brother curl up on his side, fast asleep. Such thinking wouldn't help anything. Mustang had done what he believed to be the right thing, and so had they. They were all staggering at the loss of their leader, but somehow they would put themselves back together. They would have to.

Turning back to the desk, Alphonse saw the papers Edward had been working on for the past several days. All he'd said was that it was Mustang's research notes. Curious, Alphonse began to flip through the pages upon pages of Edward's familiar scrawl. These most confidential of notes were of course written in code – a code consisting of dates and women's names – but it looked like Edward had cracked it. How he would have loved to shove that in Mustang's face. _Pssh, breaking your code was like snapping a twig!_ he would say cockily. _I mean, I always knew you were an idiot, but..._

And then Mustang would pull some smart comeback, probably something about size. The ache that had settled into the core of Alphonse's soul throbbed at the painfully familiar image. Mustang had himself written all across these pages, even though they were now translated into Edward's messy handwriting. Some pages were notes about potential allies or enemies in the military, some about new alchemic discoveries he wanted to integrate into his own technique. A memo here, some personal thoughts there... Everywhere, Alphonse saw traces of the careful, collected man he had grown to admire.

To his surprise, he found notes about himself and Edward – though mostly Edward – peppered throughout the rest of the notes. Here, a note from four years ago: _Edward Elric, 31; Alphonse Elric, 30 – rumored to be proficient alchemists._ Alphonse chuckled weakly to himself at their mistaken ages and moved on. _Elric can transmute without circle – subtly remind General of recommendation._

Then there were numerous notes on their exploits, dozens and dozens of possibilities crossed out when the two of them would return from a mission to report a dead end. Years of failure were chronicled in these pages, the simple words reminding Alphonse of how many setbacks they had faced. But Mustang had always had two more suggestions for them whenever they came back to the city, discouraged. He kept his eyes peeled for reported sightings of the Philosopher's Stone or anything remotely resembling it, and some of these notes even suggested he had gone looking for that information himself. That hadn't been part of the deal; he had only said he would inform them of rumors he happened to hear. But he had actually hunted down that information himself, to help them.

Alphonse wished he could cry, but instead he only turned over the last page and saw a final note scrawled in his brother's handwriting: _Full Metal, if you're reading this, don't bring me back. Corruption runs through entire military. Look at shape of country._ He compared it to the encoded notebook, and saw that it matched the final note scrawled haphazardly across the last page, as if in a great hurry.

Mind reeling, Alphonse stared at the translated message again. Was this what Mustang had discovered? Was this why he had been killed? To silence him? Whoever had done it must not have realized that he carried his notebook, or had flipped through it and thought it actually _was_ a planner to keep track of all his dates. This was too much information to process all at once. He and Edward would have to sit down for a long discussion...as soon as Edward could face up to the knowledge that they would never see Mustang again. Never talk to him. Never go on another one of his missions, never ask him for another clue to find the Stone. Never be able to thank him. To apologize.

_Don't bring me back._ He had known. He had _known._

Alphonse covered his visor with both hands, as if that could blot everything out. Edward stirred on his bed, disturbed by some nightmare. He rolled onto his back, clutching at the sheets and muttering faintly, "Mustang..."

Kneeling by the side of his brother's bed, Alphonse bowed his head and felt the ache grow and grow to mammoth proportions inside him. "Brother..."


	18. Calendar

**Author's Note: Once again, sorry for the delay in posting - internet troubles this time. I knew as soon as I saw this theme that it would have to have something to do with the pocketwatch, but it took me a while to figure out how Mustang could find out about it so there could be some interaction. This is specifically mangaverse, because in the manga/Brotherhood version, Ed and Al burn down their house as soon as Ed becomes a State Alchemist, but in the first series, they do it before they even reach Central. The former seemed a much smoother way for Mustang to figure out what was going on.**

**Timeline: 3 Oct. 1912**

**Theme 18: Calendar  
**

From day one, Edward Elric had been rude, loud, and disruptive. But somehow, this day he managed to top all others. The door slammed open, bouncing against the wall and leaving yet another scratch mark on the paint. "I'm back, Jumbo Blimp-Head," Edward snarled, stomping forward as the door swung back and slammed shut again.

"Good morning to you too, Full Metal," Roy replied calmly, setting his paperwork aside.

Edward was limping horribly and lugging his suitcase with him. He slammed it hard onto the sofa, cast a dark look in Mustang's direction, and snapped it open.

Mustang smirked as the boy rummaged through the contents of his suitcase. "So, how was the bustling burg of Copperton?" he asked comfortably.

"You'll find out in my report, won't you?" Edward snapped, ending with a string of curses that Roy delicately ignored, accepting the crumpled paper Edward thrust at him.

Edward kept muttering expletives as he shoved a rumpled shirt, what looked like a scrap of his red coat, and the metal grate that usually covered his automail arm back into the suitcase. He tried to close it, and when it didn't shut he yelled, "Al!"

Roy clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he attempted to smooth out the scrawled report. "A bit untidy, even by your standards, Edward. One would have thought, given your extremely late arrival, you could at least have-"

"Look, Prissy-Face," Edward snarled, rounding on him. "I'd like to see _you_ fight off hordes of brainwashed miners while trying to get to the bottom of a military scandal involving every official in the district, which means no hope of backup, which apparently you were too dumb to predict, especially when the mine collapses and you're trapped in there for a whole day trying to transmute a path out without making it all cave in over your head! _Al!_" he suddenly howled at the top of his lungs, spinning to face the door.

Alphonse meekly poked his head through the door. "Did you call me, Brother?"

"What are you, deaf or something?" Edward snarled, shoving his suitcase lid down for the fifth time. "Help me out here!"

Roy was surprised at Edward's tone. Normally, the brothers got along very well, and the few times they _were_ irritated at each other it amounted to little more than annoyed banter. But now, Edward was lashing out at his brother as though he was...well, Roy.

It was hard to tell how Alphonse was taking this, but he silently pushed down on the suitcase with one hand while Edward fastened it shut. "Got any _other_ pointless missions to shove down my throat?" Edward growled at Roy.

Roy narrowed his eyes, examining Edward carefully. The boy was hard to deal with in a good mood, but usually he would simmer down even in a bad mood once he'd let out his frustration. And usually there was a sense of familiar exasperation in Edward's scowls and complaints, which was now absent. Alphonse wasn't even attempting to restrain or scold him. Something was up.

"What's wrong, Edward?"

He expected a tirade, or at least an answer of some kind, but instead Edward stomped towards him, leaned across the desk, and muttered fiercely in Roy's face, "I don't need sympathy, so _shut up!_" He yelled the last two words, spun on his heel, and limped back through the door at top speed. Alphonse gave a hasty bow and hurried after him.

Roy sat in the ringing silence, frowning through the open door at his equally stunned subordinates. He realized with shock that Edward was actually angry this time. That he never had been before. Imagine that.

As Roy tried to decipher Edward's writing in the crumpled report (which he'd probably written on the bouncy train just to spite him, as usual), he could hear the men discussing what had just happened in hushed voices.

"What's eating the Chief?"

"I don't know. He seemed to be in a really bad mood...well, worse than usual, I mean."

"Alphonse seemed out of sorts as well."

"I hope nothing bad happened on their trip."

"Come on, Fury! They got trapped in a freaking _copper mine._ Anyone would be in a bad mood."

Roy only realized he was casting his gaze aimlessly around the room when he caught sight of a metallic glint by the sofa. When he focused his gaze on it, he recognized the shape at once: a State Alchemist pocket watch. He placed a hand over his pocket, but could feel the bulge underneath the cloth. So it was Full Metal's.

Stepping around his desk, Roy reached down and picked up the cool metal disc. It seemed to have hit one of the sofa's legs, and had popped open, leaving the protective cover slightly dented. When he held it up to his ear, he couldn't hear any ticking. _This thing had better have been broken in the mine,_ he thought, _or Full Metal is going to kill me. _When he tried to see if the watch would close, he noticed writing carved inside. Rough words, clumsily but deeply etched: _Don't Forget 3 Oct. 11._

Something clicked into place, but he stepped out of his office to make sure.

"Are we disturbing you, sir?" Hawkeye said, half-rising from her chair.

Roy waved her away and crossed the room to look intently at the calendar hanging on the wall. _3 October 1912._

* * *

"Okay, you take that side and I'll take this side." The brothers fanned out across the wide courtyard, searching every inch of the ground on either side of the main door to East City Headquarters. Edward carefully walked to and fro, scanning every inch of the ground for a telltale glint of metal. Because he was so intent on his task, he didn't realize Mustang was there until he hard a familiar voice from the steps.

"Looking for this?"

Edward whipped his head around to see Mustang standing there, holding a pocketwatch. Sudden, irrational fear shot through Edward like a lightning bolt, and he swiped his watch from the colonel. When he held it against his chest, he heard something that made his heart pound even worse than before: the watch was ticking. Trying to school his expression into one of unconcern, Edward flipped the watch open just long enough to see his writing on the inside, and the hands of the clock moving steadily. "But...it got all banged up..."

"I took it to the watch shop," Mustang said simply.

Warily, Edward raised his eyes to his superior's face. Had he seen the message? Surely, he must have, at least when the watch maker opened it up. Normally Edward kept it alchemically sealed, but the cave-in had smashed him against his right side and made the watch pop open. He hadn't even had the guts to show Alphonse the message he'd carved the day he became a State Alchemist. He'd been too ashamed that he had to carry around a reminder of his resolve to make everything right again. That having a hulking suit of armor for a brother wasn't enough.

And to think that Roy Mustang, of all people, had probably seen it...

But after a couple moments of waiting for a knowing, condescending smirk to cross Mustang's lips, Edward realized it wasn't coming. There wasn't the slightest hint of disapproval, or even confusion or added understanding. It was as though...this hadn't changed anything at all.

"I'm glad you're here," Mustang said softly.

Edward's eyes widened and he straightened slightly, but Mustang continued and he began to wonder if he'd imagined a hidden message in his words.

"You left before I could tell you yesterday, but I've found another lead. This one sounds promising."

"Thank you, sir!" Alphonse cried, bounding up the steps as Mustang turned to lead the way inside to his office.

Edward followed at a slower pace; his left leg still refused to cooperate with him. "Yeah," he said softly, pocketing his watch. "Thanks."


	19. Relaxation

**Author's Note: The theme very easily suggests "rest and relaxation," so I decided to have Mustang relaxing and then disturb that relaxation. I'll admit I kind of took inspiration from TheInkgirl's "Walking out of Town," at least in a vague way.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 19: Relaxation**

Roy Mustang had been looking forward to this day for a long time. He didn't get many days off, and usually he filled up those few days with information-gathering or working on overdue paperwork. But this time, he had set aside a day for complete rest and relaxation. No filling out paperwork, no appeasing his strict Lieutenant, no dealing with his subordinates' harebrained ideas. No noise, no chatter, and especially no doors suddenly banging open announcing the presence of two young alchemists. Full Metal was supposed to be hard at work tracking down another lead in the library, but you never knew when he would consider it time to take a break and pay his commanding officer a visit.

But today, Roy had decided that he wouldn't do anything. After sleeping in longer than he had in months, he fixed himself a nice big breakfast of pancakes and a pot of the rich, dark coffee Breda had given him for his last birthday. He took a steaming mug to the living room and settled down comfortably with a book, determined to enjoy himself thoroughly and rejuvenate himself for the rigors of work the next day.

After several minutes, Roy frowned when he realized his attention was wandering from the page. It was a fascinating alchemical study that he'd been eager to read, hoping he could improve his own technique, but he found that he couldn't concentrate. It was too...quiet.

As if on cue, the phone suddenly rang. Roy eyed it, wondering if he should bother answering. This was supposed to be his day off, and the only people who would call him would most definitely want him to do something work-related. Shouldn't he just leave it? They could get back to him tomorrow with whatever they needed. How were they to know he hadn't gone out for the day and wasn't even there? But then...what if it was something serious?

On the fourth ring, Roy sighed, set his book down, and got up to answer the phone. "Roy Mustang speaking."

"Oh good, you're home!" a familiar voice crackled over the line. "I was afraid maybe you weren't home."

"Alphonse? Is everything all right?"

The boy's voice was especially tinny over the phone, but Roy could hear the worry in his voice. "It's about my brother. He kind of...collapsed this morning."

The groan Roy had been about to voice died in his throat. "Collapsed?"

"Well...we really wanted to look into this lead." Alphonse sounded apologetic, as though it was his fault rather than Edward's stupidity, as it always was. "So he didn't want to tell me he was sick. He just said he started throwing up two days ago, but he didn't tell me so we wouldn't have to stop, and then he just stopped eating so he wouldn't throw up anymore, so..."

"He was so weak this morning that he collapsed," Roy finished for him. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was probably only one twelve-year-old in the world who could last two days like that. Because he was the only one stupid enough to try. "But why did you call me?" he asked. "I'm not a doctor."

"Well...yeah, but...but I don't know any doctors here!" Alphonse protested. "And I can't tell if he's got a temperature or not, and he can hardly even keep water down, and...you were the first person I could think of."

Roy reminded himself that Alphonse was only eleven. Children of that age weren't meant to take care of someone as violently sick as Edward sounded, even if they _were _an enormous suit of armor. Alphonse was looking to an adult for help. And Roy _really_ didn't want to play nursemaid either, especially if Edward was vomiting all over the place, but he realized with discomfort that he had no choice. It would be cruel not to.

So, heaving a sigh and casting a longing look at his book, Roy said, "All right, I'll be over in a few minutes."


	20. Unnecessary or Unimportant

**Author's Note: I got the idea for this one after watching this episode of Brotherhood. Ever since I started this fic, I've noticed more and more moments between Ed and Mustang – they're almost always more brief and subtle than moments between the Elric brothers, for example, but they're still there and they're still powerful if you let them be. In this scene, I was struck by the sheer **_**rage**_** in Ed's face, almost as if he felt...betrayed or something. And in that, I noticed some similarities to the Envy scene, which kind of carried over into my writing in places. Another thing about this chapter is that it contains one of those tiny details that Arakawa-san so masterfully puts in her manga, that you don't even notice unless you read it like ten times. (Can't figure out what I'm talking about? Look for a bruise. It's **_**totally**_** there in the manga too.) Also, this is strictly mangaverse, because obviously this isn't in the first series, and Brotherhood changes the events around so that Ed sees the Hugheses **_**before**_** he confronts Mustang.**

**Timeline: Chapter 36**

**Theme 20: Unnecessary/Unimportant**

He was fighting Barry the Chopper in utter confusion when it happened. Nearby – only a street or two over, from the sound of it – an explosion ripped through the night air, and Edward whipped his head up to see a tower of flames briefly raging upwards, lighting up the night, then dying down immediately. He knew those flames. He knew the one person in Amestris who could make such a blaze so fast, then extinguish it utterly. Seizing his chance, Edward darted past the distracted Barry the Chopper and raced through the alleys to the point where he had seen the explosion.

As he ran, Edward seemed to see the headline pasted on the very air in front of him: MARIA ROSS CONVICTED FOR MURDER OF BRIGADIER GENERAL HUGHES. This night was getting more ridiculous by the minute: First Mustang telling him Hughes had retired and gone to his hometown in the countryside, then finding out he'd been dead for weeks, and now this. Maria Ross, who had briefly been his bodyguard, who had saved him and Alphonse when they'd sneaked off to Laboratory 5, who had slapped him even though he outranked her, because she wanted to knock some sense through his thick skull.

Maria Ross, a charred corpse lying on the ground at his feet, blackened beyond recognition.

Edward stood in the alleyway, breathing heavily and staring at the partially-melted prisoner's bracelet that still clearly bore the name Maria Ross. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the man who stood over her, silhouetted against the light of the lamps on the street. "Full Metal," he acknowledged coldly.

The calmness of that voice set Edward's blood boiling. "What the hell's going on here, Mustang?" Edward demanded. "Why is Hughes...when did it...and Maria Ross..." He leapt towards Mustang, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him. "Why the _hell_ did you kill her?"

_CRACK._

Edward stumbled back, falling to the ground from the force of the blow. Mustang's knuckles had landed firmly on his cheekbone, knocking his head sharply to one side. Edward's neck ached, and he felt a little dizzy, but he forced himself upright again.

Meanwhile, Mustang straightened his collar once more and said sternly, "You dare to raise your hand against your superior? Know your place, Full Metal."

Gritting his teeth, Edward clenched his automail fist and started forward again, longing to bash his metal knuckles into that infuriatingly aloof expression. But he had hardly even pulled his arm back for the strike when familiar metal arms wrapped around his, holding him back. "No, Brother, you can't!"

Edward struggled with all his might, even though he knew it was no use. "Let me go, Al!" he screamed, straining against those inexorable gauntlets. "I'm gonna _kill_ him!"

"Look, I don't know what happened, but you can't-"

"Look what he did to Lieutenant Ross!" Edward retorted, kicking his heels against Alphonse's metal shins, even though he knew it wouldn't be of any use. What was Mustang _thinking?_ How could he think that someone like Ross – someone that Armstrong and Hughes had both trusted so well – would be _capable_ of such a thing?

Alphonse looked down and finally saw the blackened corpse. Gasping but still keeping a firm grip on Edward's arms, he said, "What's going on, Colonel? Why is Lieutenant Ross...?"

Edward couldn't see Mustang's expression in that light, and his voice betrayed nothing either. He simply said, as though reporting what he had bought at the grocery store, "You heard the report as well as I did. Maria Ross was found guilty of the murder of Brigadier General Hughes, and once she escaped from Central Prison, we were given orders to shoot to kill if she resisted." He turned away, looking up the street as backup finally started arriving. "She resisted."

Edward stared at Mustang's profile, calming down enough that Alphonse let go of his arms. One gauntlet lingered on his left shoulder, though Edward wasn't sure if he meant to give reassurance or seek it. Mustang's expression was no easier to read than before, even though the light now illuminated his features. It was like staring at a mask.

Or like rushing home after school, only to find that strange people you'd never seen before were living in your house.

"I apologize for not informing you of Hughes's death," Mustang said, as though it was barely worth mentioning.

"Why?" Alphonse spoke up, sounding shaken. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

He wasn't even looking at them anymore. "I thought it was...unnecessary."

Edward gritted his teeth and gave the stoic Mustang one last infuriated glare, then turned away. "Unnecessary," he muttered, "or unimportant? As if Hughes would want this." He didn't stop to see if Mustang heard...or cared.

* * *

The next day, after the investigation team had heard his account, the coroner had declared the corpse to be Maria Ross after all, and Mustang had run off his mouth about stupid beautiful women in the stupid east where Armstrong should take his stupid vacation, Edward sat alone in the hotel dining hall. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew it was late because there was no one left in the large hall except for a single waiter sweeping up the crumbs from the tables. He could hear the distant clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen.

He was enough of a regular in this hotel that the cooks knew what his favorite foods were, and he'd eaten a hearty meal as usual, but he felt none of the satisfaction or pleasure that usually followed a good, warm meal like this. He supposed it was mostly because of the depressing interview he'd had that afternoon with Mrs. Hughes, who had told him in true Hughes-fashion to keep moving forward because there were so many people waiting for their success. But as he wearily stuck his fork in his mouth and let it hang there, wiggling it between his teeth, Edward knew what was really bothering him.

_You should put more trust in adults,_ Ross had said. Edward rested his chin in his hand, gingerly resting his fingers against the bruise that had formed on his cheekbone. It hurt. It _hurt._

Edward let the fork drop from between his lips and clatter onto the table, then let his good cheek rest next to it, staring at the tines glistening in the light. What had happened to Mustang? Just weeks ago, they'd been bantering as usual. Mustang had said, _Don't die on me; the paperwork would be too big of a pain._ Then Edward had returned to Central, to have Mustang lie to him and then kill Ross in cold blood, without even asking any questions.

Was he really the kind of man who would let revenge consume him? Edward had always pegged him as a man of a higher caliber than that, someone who wouldn't stoop to measures like Scar's, someone who would seek justice and truth rather than self-satisfaction. _I thought I could trust you,_ he thought bleakly, closing his eyes and ignoring the concerned inquiries of the waiter. _But now what am I supposed to believe? Tell me that, Mustang. You're supposed to be a role model or something, aren't you? You're supposed to be the stuck-up adult who tells me I'm a kid and then shows me how to be a man. But I can't be that man, Mustang. I can't be you._

He wondered why that bothered him so much.


	21. Mystique

**Author's Note: I was surprised at how easily this theme came, because it looked problematic at first. But I thought of "mystique" and "Edward Elric" side by side, and realized immediately what the point would have to be. The specifics were actually inspired by a guy at my church who's a real jokester, and did this very thing one Sunday (though he imposed the impossible time limit of one minute). Then the pastor came in, and filled the role of Mustang XD**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 21: Mystique**

The Full Metal Alchemist was one of the most famous people in Amestris; gossip and speculation followed him wherever he went. It was all because he was the youngest person ever to become a State Alchemist, of course, which no one seemed to realize wasn't actually a cause to celebrate. No one should be lauded for putting a twelve-year-old in the _military,_ but that was just the way Amestris was.

Ordinary civilians found a certain mystique in the young alchemist. They'd never seen him, unless in a blurry photograph in the paper, so they were left to their own imaginations to figure out what he must be like. _He must be so dedicated, so somber and grand, to pass the exam at such a young age,_ the men said. _He must be strong and handsome; he must be such a charming young man,_ the women said. _I bet he's really tall and cool; I wanna be just like him!_ the boys said, while the girls added, _And I bet he's nice and gentle too, since he helped all those people last week._

Whenever he heard these comments, Roy Mustang had to turn away and force down a chuckle. There was no way these people could know differently, but after knowing Edward for four years and working alongside him for three...well, it became surprisingly easy to forget that the boy was even a State Alchemist at all.

Once such instance of forgetfulness came when Roy innocently walked through the door to his office after a ten-o'clock meeting and immediately wished General Frasier had waffled on a bit longer. But when everyone in the room turned around and looked at him guiltily, Roy figured he couldn't just turn around and walk back out. The men were crowded around Edward, Havoc holding the boy's pocket watch. Breda was trying to hide a package of crackers behind his back, which did a little to explain the astonishing number of crackers currently poking out of Edward's mouth. Alphonse stood behind him, looking as frustrated as a suit of armor could, and Falman and Fury just looked nervous. Hawkeye was nowhere to be seen, which was probably why this had happened in the first place. "Do I...want to know?" Roy asked cautiously, trying to look stern.

"Mmmgthbbm-" Edward started to say, spraying crumbs over the nearest desk.

"Um, maybe you shouldn't talk with your mouth full, Brother," Alphonse suggested timidly, and Edward commencing chewing as fast as he could – which, under the circumstances, wasn't very fast.

Roy averted his eyes from this disgusting spectacle and glared around at his subordinates. "All right, what's going on here?" He glared at each of them in turn, waiting to see who would break first.

Predictably, it was Fury who winced under the force of his glare and mumbled, "We were...trying to see how fast Ed could eat five crackers at once, sir."

Roy gazed around at them all incredulously. Here were four grown men and two teenagers who were probably smarter than he was, people who had fought in wars, performed human transmutation, and were now embroiled in an illegal struggle for their very lives...and they were betting on whether Edward could eat five crackers at once. He looked down at the Full Metal Alchemist, who had finally managed to at least close his mouth over the ends of the crackers, and now tried to look defiant while his cheeks bulged to either side.

Swiftly, Roy turned aside and crossed to the door to his inner office. "I apologize, sir!" Havoc called after him nervously. "It was my fault; I called him big-mouthed, and-"

Roy held up his hand without turning around, and Havoc fell silent again. "I don't want to hear it," he said shortly as he opened the door. "Get back to work immediately, all of you. Full Metal, go get a glass of water or something and meet me back here in ten minutes."

"Yes sir!"

"Yshhur."

Roy managed to make it over the threshold of his office and close the door firmly behind him before he cracked up. He muffled his snickers in the crook of his arm and moved away from the door because he didn't want the men to hear – they needed to think he was angry with them, or they'd keep slacking off and then somehow Hawkeye would manage to blame him for it.

He tried to compose himself with the sobering thought of how angry Hawkeye would be if she found out, but as soon as he sat down behind his desk, the thought of Edward's bulging cheeks threw him into hysterics again. _So much for the mystique of the Full Metal Alchemist._


	22. Unaccustomed Things

**Author's Note: At first I thought about doing something with Ed teaching Mustang clap-alchemy after Brotherhood, but then I wasn't sure it would be "unaccustomed" enough. So eventually I settled on this instead, as a continuation of chapter 19 of this fic.**

**Timeline: Immediately after "Relaxation"**

**Theme 22: Unaccustomed things**

_For RedKetchup_

Alphonse immediately opened the door at Roy's knock. "He's sleeping." The whisper echoed loudly around the armor.

"Good," Roy replied quietly, stepping into the Elrics' dorm room. It was the first time he had ever set foot inside it, but somehow he had known the room would be horribly cluttered. Edward just seemed the sort of boy who wouldn't mind leaving old underwear and crumpled pieces of paper lying around on the floor, and apparently Alphonse had been too busy taking care of his brother to clean the place up.

Just as the boy had said, Edward lay in the single, narrow bed, breathing deeply. Roy crossed the small room and examined his young subordinate. Edward looked even smaller than usual, his face pale and sunken except for an unhealthy flush on his cheeks. Sweat pasted his blonde bangs to his face, turning them light brown. Roy didn't know what he'd expected to find when Alphonse had told him his brother was sick, but he was so used to Edward being bright and lively. He looked strange, just lying here looking old and exhausted.

Roy was unaccustomed to things like this. He could take care of himself all right when he got sick, but he'd never had to care for someone else in such a position. Especially not a kid. He couldn't remember what you were supposed to do; it had been so long since his adopted mother and sisters had babied him when he would come down with something. But slowly, as he looked down at Edward, a memory began to return to him.

"_Madame, I think he's got a fever."_

_Strong, fleshy arms lifted him up into a familiar lap, and he relaxed against her warm girth. He was shivering so hard his teeth were chattering._

"_Here now, Roy-boy, let's see..." She brushed his messy hair away from his forehead, and rested her cheek against his hot skin..._

Feeling stupid, Roy mimicked the memory of his foster mother. He knelt by the bed, gently brushed sweaty hair aside, and pressed his cheek against Edward's forehead. It was unnaturally hot and slimy from sweat, but Roy was surprised at how comfortable this position was. He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, but Alphonse was watching him anxiously, so he straightened up again.

"He's burning up," Roy murmured, reaching into his pocket for the thermometer he'd grabbed on his way out of the house. He shook it so the mercury would slide back down, but when he looked up again he saw Edward's eyes slide open in confusion.

"Mustang...?" he croaked groggily.

"Hey, pipsqueak." Roy smirked, knowing that for once, Edward was unable to retaliate. "Open up." He slid the thermometer into the boy's mouth, and as they waited for the verdict, Roy stood up to talk to Alphonse again.

"It's probably just a stomach bug," he said reassuringly. "Not much to do but wait it out. Here..." He dug in his pockets for some cash, then handed it over to Alphonse. "There's a pharmacy on the next street over; if you tell them his symptoms, they can get you something for them."

"Okay," Alphonse said, sounding much more cheerful than he had over the phone. He seemed much more comfortable with an adult telling him what to do. "I'll be back in a bit, Brother," he added, before ducking out the door and closing it softly behind him.

Once he retrieved the thermometer and confirmed that Edward did indeed have a fever, there wasn't much to do but shift a tottering stack of reference books from the chair by the bed and sit down. Edward watched his movements, his eyes glassy from fever.

Silence settled over the room, and Roy twiddled his thumbs. He couldn't do anything until Alphonse got back; he didn't want to leave Edward completely alone when he was in this state. Finally Edward mumbled, "Don' wanna be sick."

"Is that why you didn't tell Alphonse?"

Edward rolled onto his side and pulled his covers up over his pouting mouth. "Didn't wanna stop. I thought it'd be worth it in the end."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Look, Full Metal, even if you _had_ found the Stone, you wouldn't be able to use it in this state."

"Yeah, but...but we're gonna lose so much time."

He snorted. "You would have wasted less time if you'd told your brother from the beginning, rather than wearing yourself out and worrying everyone."

Edward's eyes had been fixed on Roy's knee, but now they rose to his face. "Everyone?"

Roy shrugged. "Well, me and Alphonse, anyway. I hope you know you scared your little brother out of his wits."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Roy watched his face grow increasingly miserable, then made a decision on the spot. "Look, kid, I'll make you a deal." He stood up, and Edward watched him curiously.

Roy put on his best stern commanding officer face. "You get better and promise me you'll _stop_ next time you get really sick...and I'll help Alphonse with your research in the meantime."

Edward's eyelids tugged downwards, and he only had time to mumble, "'Kay," before drifting off to sleep again. It occurred to Roy that Hawkeye was going to be pretty upset with him once she found out his promise. She'd probably think it was some ingenious ruse just to avoid his real work. Maybe it was.

But then...these boys had no one else to turn to. Their mother was dead, and their father was gone. Who else would take care of them, if not him? Shoving aside these pointless thoughts, Roy picked up a sheaf of notes and began to read.


	23. Waiting

**Author's Note: If you want to be depressed for the rest of the day, I advise you to put "Mad World" by Gary Jules and/or "Forgiven" by Within Temptation on repeat while you read this. Almost got **_**me**_** tearing up by the end, and I hardly ever cry when I'm writing. So yeah, be forewarned – this chapter consists of angst, tragedy, angst, crying, and angst, in that order :D Enjoy!**

**Timeline: After "Memo"**

**Theme 23: Waiting  
**

_For feathersnow_

They were waiting for the others. Just Edward and Alphonse, in an office that had never seemed so huge before. They sat on the same couch, the cushions sagging down considerably on Alphonse's side. Edward stared intently at the opposite couch, letting his long bangs cut off his peripheral vision so he wouldn't have to look at the empty chair behind Mustang's desk. He had to pretend they were just waiting like always, that the Idiot Colonel Supreme was just flirting with some woman while making himself coffee, and was keeping them waiting on purpose.

But when the door finally opened, it wasn't Mustang who came in, but Hughes. He ushered Hawkeye in, and the men shuffled in after him. He looked like he had aged ten years over the past week; there were dark shadows under his eyes, his hair was rumpled, and the cheerful bounce was gone from his step. Hawkeye was worse. She let Hughes gently push her down onto the other couch, but when she sat down she let her hands dangle between her knees and just stared at them. Her face was completely blank, as though every emotion had been wiped from her in one stroke. She hadn't bothered to put her hair up, or even wash it apparently. Edward usually thought it was kind of pretty – that _she_ was kind of pretty – but now she looked like some miserable, dumpy, middle-aged woman.

Edward couldn't stand looking at them any longer, and raised his eyes to the other subordinates. He wished he hadn't. Breda was staring fixedly at the far wall, Falman stood with head bowed and eyes closed, Havoc was chewing his unlit cigarette to shreds and watching Hawkeye as though afraid she would explode, and Fury was trying unsuccessfully not to cry.

The cold lump of horror that had rested in his stomach all week weighed heavier and heavier. Edward stared down at his hands clasped on his knees, and mentally cursed Mustang. _Stupid stupid stupid,_ he chanted to himself. _You weren't supposed to stick your neck out that far. You were supposed to let other people do the dangerous stuff, so you could become Fuhrer and change this country around. Now what are we supposed to do?_

Hughes was the first to break the silence. His voice was low and strained. "We've...hit a major setback," he said, clasping his hands together. "We've...l-lost our leader, but..." He closed his eyes, cleared his throat, and continued. "We can't let this stop us. We all made a commitment to see him reach his goals, to see him at the top where he can change things...and we're not going to stop now. Otherwise, Roy would've..." he clenched his teeth and forced out tremulously, "died in vain."

Havoc turned away and covered his face with his hand, while Hawkeye flinched and let out a tiny grunt of pain. Edward just gripped his knees tighter and kept calling Mustang names in his mind. Alphonse, who had none of the physical hindrances to talking but whose voice sounded sad and subdued all the same, spoke up. "If so, we're going to have to find someone else to get the top position. One of us is going to have to take his place."

"I will."

Everyone looked at Hawkeye with some surprise. Her face was no longer blank, but hard as steel. "I know his plans. He told me his dreams right from the beginning, so I know them better than any of you. I will become Fuhrer, and I will find the one who killed him, and I will _tear his throat out._"

Edward unconsciously recoiled against Alphonse's side, staring at the stranger in Hawkeye's skin. Her teeth were bared in a snarl, her eyes were wide and crazed with rage, and she clutched her hands together until her knuckles turned white.

Hughes whispered her name and put a hand on her shoulder. Her lip trembled, and suddenly she let out a howl that echoed around the room. For a moment Edward thought she was attacking Hughes, but she only clung to him and sobbed with all her might. The sound of her anguish seemed to rip from her in painful bursts, as though someone had pulled off her limbs and left her bleeding on the floor. Hughes held her, rocking back and forth and crying too.

She had loved him. Edward cursed Mustang even more. How could he have done this to her? Didn't he _know?_ Couldn't he _tell?_ Edward hadn't figured it out, but that was because he was fifteen and hardly ever here. She was his _aide,_ for crying out loud, his closest subordinate. They'd fought together in Ishbal, and from something he'd said once, her father had been his alchemy teacher. They'd known each other for years, so he _had_ to know what she thought of him. Did he even care?

Did he care that he'd left them all?

* * *

The brothers trudged back into their dorm room that night, after agreeing to meet with the others the following day at the Hugheses' house. There, they would discuss the future of their team, decide for sure who would be the leader, and go over the findings Edward had made in Mustang's research notes. The information that had killed him was the key to finding out the truth behind the military, the truth the brothers had begun to uncover in Laboratory 5.

Edward looked at the notes on his desk. He'd left them scattered across the surface, but Alphonse had straightened them up for him. Mustang had written those notes, as if knowing that Edward would be the one to decipher them. As if, in his dying moments, he had thought of his youngest subordinate.

Swearing under his breath, Edward kicked the chair and flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. He was gone – the _jerk_ – and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd just have to live with it. Live...while Roy Mustang was dead. Dead.

_Dead._

No more annoying missions to the ends of the earth. No more insults about his height. No more smug receptions of his reports. No more passing along leads for the Philosopher's Stone. No more Mustang, with his stupid messy hair and his stupid strong hands and his stupid, _stupid_ smirk that he always seemed to wear when he looked down at him. Seriously, he should be _glad_ that Mustang was...

"Al." He'd meant it to come out casual, like he couldn't care less, but something tore in his throat and it ended up more like a desperate half-shout. "He's...He's _gone!_"

He didn't want to feel like this. He didn't want to clutch Alphonse around the neck because once again, he was the only person he could rely on implicitly. He didn't want to step out of that door, go on with his life, when the most annoying person in the world wasn't there to make his life hell anymore.

Because he _wasn't_ there. And he never _would_ be there. Every time Edward went to HQ, he would want to kick open the door with a rude greeting, but he never could. He would think about calling Mustang to update him on his progress or to say that really, you know, I just mean to say, well...you're not so bad after all. And I kind of like you, Mustang, because even though you're as annoying as all get-out, you always take care of me. And you always know what to do. And what the _hell_ am I going to do if you're not around anymore?

He would just have to wait. And wait. And wait. Because Roy Mustang was never coming back.


	24. Ten Years Ago

**Author's Note: I feel bad about this theme because it seems so generic. So obvious. But maybe there's a gem in there somewhere, because I'd imagine this is what their relationship is like a lot of the time: Drudgery, annoyance, and every so often...something like this. Also, I had quite a time of it trying to think of what on earth happened in either of their lives ten years ago DX**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 24: Ten years ago**

Edward Elric was _not_ in a good mood. But then, when was the last time he'd been in a good mood in Mustang's office?

The annoying colonel himself was sitting sideways behind his desk with his legs crossed, placidly listening to Edward's report with his customary smirk firmly in place. It just made Edward angrier than ever, as if it hadn't been enough that he'd nearly been turned into a freaking _chimera_ by the crazy alchemist Mustang had sent him to this time. It didn't matter how many times Alphonse reminded him that he'd broken into the kennel and let all the animals go free before the alchemist tied Edward up and stuck him on that circle. It could have happened.

With an aggravated sigh, Edward flopped onto his back on the couch and muttered, "So then I took him to South for questioning and it turned out his 'red stone' was crystallized cow blood. The End."

"Cow blood?" Mustang sounded mildly impressed. "Inventive."

"Try 'waste of time,'" Edward muttered, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. He hadn't been able to sleep that well the past couple of nights, because he kept on thinking about that insane freak explaining to him his hypotheses about how much more distorted and pained a human-horse chimera would be than a human-pig one. And because this alchemist kept on merging with Shou Tucker in his dreams, and because he couldn't keep from thinking about a low, strained voice whispering to him, _Little Big Brother...why does it hurt here?_

Great, he was thinking about it again. With a huff of frustration, Edward swung his legs off the couch and sat up again, scowling murderously at the coffee table. "So, Mustang," he growled, forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind again. "Got any more dead-ends for me to track down?"

"Unfortunately not. But you could try asking Hughes."

Edward nodded glumly. He didn't mind going to Central, and it was always nice to see Hughes again even if it _did_ mean getting bombarded with pictures and heavy hints about getting a girlfriend. And there were a few things they should probably look up in the First Branch of the library there. But on the train up here, he'd had time to realize just how long they'd been searching for the stupid Stone. Would they ever find it?

"Guess we're gonna stay like this for a while," Edward muttered under his breath, looking at his automail hand even though it was covered with a glove as usual.

He didn't think Mustang could hear, but Mustang got up from his desk and came to sit across from Edward. It was as if he was stepping out of his rank and facing him as a fellow man.

"You know, Ed...ten years ago, I signed up and entered the military academy. It was the easiest way to get a higher education, and my alchemy teacher couldn't help me there." He was looking at his hands, but Edward could tell he saw something more. "But when I got there, I realized the military was a force that could change the world. That we soldiers are the people charged with protecting those weaker than us."

He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling instead, and let out a mirthless chuckle. "Of course, Ishbal proved me wrong. We don't bring peace, we bring destruction. But I still believed I could protect the people under my command...and that the more people I could lead, the more I could protect. So maybe my dream could come true after all."

Edward stared at him. All of a sudden, Mustang seemed like a real person. Someone with dreams and desires and setbacks and faults...well, he'd always known the man had faults, anyway. "Wait," he said slowly as it dawned on him. "Did you say ten years...?"

Mustang met his gaze at last, smiling slightly though his eyes looked exhausted. "That's right. And look how far I've come."

_And how far you have left to go._ Colonel wasn't too bad for ten years, though of course Mustang got a boost when he became a State Alchemist and received the rank of Major. But it would still take a while for him to become Fuhrer. Edward looked into those dark, tired eyes and found he couldn't look away, because he saw the same hopelessness he felt, that desire to just give up because it would be so much easier than pressing on with the goal so far out of sight.

Suddenly, a knock on the door broke the spell connecting them. Blinking, Mustang stood up and turned towards the door. Hawkeye poked her head in, carrying a clipboard with her. "Sir," she said once she saw that she wasn't interrupting anything. "This just came from Hughes."

Mustang took it in surprise while Hawkeye closed the door behind herself again. Slowly, Mustang's usual smirk slid back onto his face as he read the message. "Looks like you're in luck, Full Metal. Another dead-end lead, most likely."

"Just shut up and gimme the address," Edward said, standing up and easily falling back into the routine. But as Mustang read out the information Hughes had uncovered, Edward eyed his superior. Well, he couldn't give up after only four years, not if Mustang had been pressing on for ten. He'd show him up one of these days. Maybe it would take another ten years, but one day he would shake Fuhrer Mustang's hand with a hand of flesh and blood.


	25. That Time

**Author's Note: At first I thought this was impossibly similar to the previous prompt and I would be unable to write anything. But gradually, the thought that formed in my head was, "Oh, it's **_**that**_** time again." And then I realized I **_**could**_** say something about their relationship after all! Nothing too profound, but still.  
**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 25: "That time"**

First Lieutenant Hawkeye looked up when she heard the door to Colonel Mustang's inner office open. The colonel stepped out, dressed in his shirtsleeves and tousling his already-messy hair, and yawned loudly. He slouched over to Hawkeye's desk and dropped a stack of paperwork in front of her with a satisfied _thump._ "File these, Lieutenant," he said, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. "Full Metal's due here any minute."

Hawkeye shot him a look. How characteristic of him, to slack off on _her_ when Havoc was leaning back on two legs of his chair, trying to smoke out the window. But she didn't complain, setting aside her own work with a mutter of, "Yes sir."

"Oh, Ed and Al are coming through?" Fury said, looking up with a smile.

"Yes, it's that time again," Mustang groaned, crossing to the coffee pot in the corner and pouring himself another mug. "I feel exhausted already."

"The Chief makes you feel your age, huh?" Havoc said with a grin, then quickly straightened his chair and stamped out his cigarette when he caught Hawkeye's scathing glance.

"Hey!" Mustang whirled around, his coffee coming dangerously close to slopping over his hand. "I'm only twenty-eight!"

"Come to think of it," Falman said, looking up from his work, "you're exactly twice his age now, sir."

"Don't remind me," Mustang groused, sipping his coffee and moodily making his way back to his office. "Teenagers," he added darkly. "Well, send him in when he gets here."

Hawkeye smiled to herself as the door closed behind Mustang with a snap. He'd been complaining to her about Edward's return for three days, and from that she could tell that he was secretly looking forward to it.

* * *

"Let me guess," Alphonse said, breaking the silence as the train left the forested hills behind and began passing the outskirts of Central. "You're thinking about Colonel Mustang."

Edward glared out the window, chin cupped in his hand and his whole body slumped down as far as it would go, making him seem even shorter than usual – not that Alphonse would ever admit that out loud. "Who else? I have to march up and tell him to his stupid smug face that we're losers."

"We're not losers," Alphonse said patiently. "We just haven't found it yet. You wait, Brother. We'll find it one of these days."

"Yeah, and then we'll be rid of Roy 'The Smirker' Mustang. I can't wait."

"You know, you'll still be a soldier when we get our bodies back..."

Edward sat up a little straighter, turning his glare on his brother instead. "Then I'll retire, and serve him right! 'Ha ha, I'm retired with a veteran's pension when I'm fourteen, and you have to slave away for the rest of your life!' Let's see how he likes _that!_"

"Veterans don't actually get that much money."

"State Alchemists do!"

"_If_ they've distinguished themselves somehow, like Mustang did in Ishbal. You're thinking about him again, aren't you?"

"Am _not!_" Edward glowered with more ferocity than before out the window, watching the train station pull into sight. "Why should I think about him, anyway? When I get your body back, I'll become a garbage collector if that's what it takes to get away from _him._ The sly, conniving, self-righteous..."

But as Edward slouched lower and lower in his seat and kept muttering all the juiciest insults he could think of, Alphonse smiled deep in his soul. Edward had been talking about Mustang ever since they had gotten on the train, even when they were playing cards to pass the time. And that could only mean that he missed Mustang something awful.


	26. A Suddenly Remembered Instant

**Author's Note: As instantly as this moment was remembered, I was able to come up with the scenario for this theme. What other time does one of these two characters have a sudden flashback that pertains to their relationship? Oh, and this is specifically animeverse because the darker, brooding ending is absent from the manga side story. (I'm posting a few days early because Friday, my usual posting day, is when orientation at my college starts. Hopefully school won't slow down my writing _too_ much!)  
**

**Timeline: Episode 13**

**Theme 26: A suddenly remembered instant**

Roy had been against it from the very beginning. The last thing he needed, on top of the stress of the top brass descending upon East Headquarters and Scar slipping through their fingers at every turn, was to compete against the Full Metal Alchemist in front of half the military.

It wasn't that he was afraid of losing. Of course not. Edward was fifteen, didn't even come up to his shoulder, and was sketchy when it came to disciplined fighting. He'd never had to go through Basic Training; he'd been shoved forward due to his skills, and he survived the many fights he got himself into with a haphazard combination of intuition and sheer dumb luck. Roy, on the other hand, was a streamlined fighting machine, honed by his years in the military and the Ishbal War. Edward would be carried out on a stretcher when this was over, looking like a lump of charcoal.

It was just so inconvenient. He'd have to run around the parade grounds in the hot sun, getting all sweaty and dusty, and he would probably be roped into cleaning up the mess they both made. What did they expect, asking the two top combat alchemists to fight it out? The parade grounds would look like an ancient ruin when they were through. Surely there was a more efficient way to assess their abilities.

He also didn't like it because it was like an exhibit for the entire military to gawk at their human weapons...but Roy tried not to dwell on that.

But the Fuhrer had ordered it and Edward hadn't backed down (of course), so when Hughes called for them to begin, Roy sighed and snapped his fingers, sending fire rushing in Edward's direction and starting the battle before Edward could make a move. Maybe he could end this soon.

It was fairly easy to keep Edward running around. The boy was just too hot-headed; he wasted energy shouting, and took the bait when Roy called out a jab at his height. It was almost pitiful. A human weapon he might be, but Edward wouldn't last five minutes on the battlefield. He could often hold his own against the small groups he encountered on his travels because his age (and his size) caught them by surprise and his methods of fighting were so different from what most people were used to, what with clapping and kicking and transmuting clubs with his angry face on the end. But against an army? He would rush ahead of the troops, argue with his superior's orders, and end up flat on the ground with a bullet through his forehead.

Suddenly Edward got his first attack in, darting from the clouds of dust without his telltale red coat, and slashed right through the transmutation circle on Roy's glove. Roy danced back a step or two, genuinely surprised. Edward had actually managed to rip his glove to shreds without cutting his hand. A sloppy fighter he might be, but he was still skilled.

But he hadn't won yet. While Edward yelled in triumph and transmuted an enormous, ornate cannon to finish him off, Roy smirked and pulled his left hand out of his pocket, wearing his other glove. And while Edward screamed, "No faaaaair!" Roy simply snapped his fingers and sent him flying with the explosion.

He climbed over the pile of rubble triumphantly, heading towards the sound of coughing that marked Edward's position. Edward should have known from the beginning. He should have known better than to challenge a decorated war veteran still in the prime of his life. He'd never stood a chance. Were this a real war, he would be dead; as it was, Roy intended to scorch his skin a little and hopefully cut his ego down to size.

Edward glared up at him, covered in dust and tiny scratches, sitting defeated in a pile of broken concrete. Roy smirked at the expression on his face. He'd been so sure he would win, hadn't he? The little fool.

"Just do it," Edward growled.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

And then, as he lowered his hand and pressed his fingers together to snap, he froze. In a suddenly remembered instant, Edward's fair hair darkened and his scowl turned to an expression of fear. A young Ishbalite crouched, trembling, before him, clutching a rifle in trembling hands. Roy froze, staring into those red eyes and realizing how _young_ the kid was. No older than fifteen. A child who should be more interested in girls and sports, now fighting for his very life. The boy's breaths came quick and shallow as he stared his death in the face, but he raised his rifle with shaking hands, and-

Roy drew a trembling breath as he realized the point of Edward's sword-arm was inches away from his throat. The boy had taken advantage of those precious seconds he had hesitated, and now they were locked in stalemate.

The Fuhrer approached them, clapping and smiling genially. "That will do, State Alchemists. You've both passed your assessments with flying colors. Continue to serve the country with your skill."

Roy and Edward immediately broke apart, lowering their arms and accepting the inevitable orders to clean up after themselves. As the crowd dispersed and Roy turned to fetch a shovel, he glanced surreptitiously at Edward, who was grumbling and brushing dust off his coat. His eyes were gold again, his hair was a light Amestrian blonde. He was the same Full Metal as always. Yet Roy realized with a pang that Edward had been forced into a life all too similar to those Ishbalite boys. He was a human weapon as surely as they were.

But he was determined that Edward would never have to fight in a war. He was _not_ going to see that boy lying dead on the battlefield like so many other wasted lives. Incompetent or not, haphazard or not, Edward was _not_ going to die. Roy decided then and there that he would make sure Edward lived to see another day, if it was the last thing he did.


	27. Rejected?

**Author's Note: I honestly can't even remember where this idea came from, nor why the theme made me come up with this story. I don't really feel I did this scenario justice – it was a lot more elaborate in my head, but then probably also a lot more melodramatic as well (not that this baby isn't melodramatic as all get-out). But once this idea came into my head, it just kind of stuck there and wouldn't leave me alone. So blame it on the plot bunnies, guys! Don't hate me! (Yeah right XD) Oh, and I'm not sure if Amestris would have this kind of technology yet, but if not, just assume it's an AU.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 27: Rejected?**

"Rejected?"

Slowly, Roy sank into the chair by the bed and stared numbly between the two Elric brothers. They looked as shocked as he felt – or at least, Edward lay still and pale in the white hospital bed; Alphonse was quiet, but there was no way to know what expression he was wearing. The giant suit of armor sat on the other side of Edward, staring at clenched gauntlets resting on his knees.

Roy was still trying to process what they had just told him. "No," he said slowly, desperately. "They...They can't just leave it at that! They'll just have to find another donor!"

"It's not that easy," Edward said in the voice that had grown so weak and soft. "It's my blood type. It's rare, so not many heart donors have-"

"That's ridiculous!" Roy got to his feet again and started pacing in frustration. "They can't just- There must be-" He gripped the front of his shirt, feeling his blood pounding through every vein in his body. Then he whirled back to face Edward. "Take mine!"

"Don't be an idiot," Edward snapped, some of his fire returning to color his face. "Sit down, I don't want your stupid heart anyway."

Roy dropped back down into his chair, feeling his heart sink with him, and stared down at the bland beige tiles of the floor. How had this happened? How could Edward Elric, _the_ Full Metal Alchemist, be dying?

Dying?

Slowly, he raised his head again and met Edward's gaze, as clear and gold as ever. The boy gave the tiniest nod, and with that, Roy's whole world seemed to crumble into pieces around him. It was like when Hawkeye had looked up at him with sad, old eyes and asked, "Why are we killing the people we're supposed to protect?"

This was his _subordinate._ And he'd sworn to protect the ones under his authority. How had Edward slipped through his fingers? How could he be so powerless?

Roy had to get to his feet and turn his back on the boys to hide his emotion. He glared fiercely out the window at the cheerful blue sky and the shady tree with the bluebirds chirping away as though all was right with the world. After a few minutes of much swallowing, he managed to master himself enough to ask, "How long?"

He expected Edward to say something devastating, like _a month_ or even _two weeks._ Instead, the weak voice behind him drew a shuddering breath and said, "Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Roy turned around to look at him, wondering how much worse it could get. "What do you mean?"

Edward and Alphonse looked at each other, but rather than the understanding nod Roy had been expecting, Alphonse looked away, then got to his feet and clomped out of the room, shoulders slumped. Edward bit his lip, then seemed to muster his resolve. By the time he looked up at Roy again, his usual determination was firmly back in place. "Look, Mustang...I'm going to die anyway..."

Roy opened his mouth without knowing what he was going to say, but Edward spoke over him.

"No, shut up and listen to me! I want to do one last thing for Al. I...I _think_ I could probably do it myself, but I...want your help."

Roy had never seen Edward actually come right out and ask for help before. And when Edward looked so much more weak and forlorn than ever before, Roy found he couldn't refuse. He sat back down, wondering if the cold pit growing in his stomach would ever go away. "What is it?"

"I'm going to get Al's body back."

Roy was so used to hearing Edward say that, it took him a few moments before he realized just what he meant. "Using yourself...as the price?" He felt he had to whisper the words, as though the admission of such selflessness would become tainted in the open air.

"I won't be any good to anyone otherwise," he said, somewhat defensively. "And I _promised_ him...and...and I just..."

Roy ran a hand through his hair. "So you want me to kill you?"

"Yeah." Edward turned his head so his long bangs obscured his face. "I know it's a lot to ask...and you'll have to see the Truth that way...but I want you to do it. Please."

Suddenly, Edward was the small, crippled teenager it was so easy not to see. Roy didn't trust himself to speak, so he just reached for Edward's arm and squeezed it reassuringly. Only then did he realize it was Edward's right arm, so he was forced to say, "Okay. I'll do it." His voice shook, but in the end, he found he didn't care.

* * *

Edward didn't want to wait. Roy supposed he could understand – it had to be an overwhelming weight, knowing you were going to die, and waiting would only prolong the suspense – but he found himself dragging his feet through all the preparations. Only a few years ago, he'd been blissfully unaware of the existence of Edward Elric. Now he wished he had never made the trip to Risenpool, had never clapped eyes on the tiny crippled ten-year-old, had never opened the door for him to strut into his life.

Because then there would be no goodbye.

Roy straightened at last from the final inscription at the edge of the large circle, and kneaded his lower back as he tossed the chalk aside. He turned to Edward, who had observed every stroke from his wheelchair. How ironic, that now at the end of their relationship Edward was in the same position as when they first met. Edward carefully eyed the portion Roy had been filling in according to his instructions, then nodded in satisfaction.

Alphonse, who stood behind the chair to push Edward to the center of the circle, let out the tiniest noise of distress that nevertheless echoed around the empty concrete walls. Edward craned his neck around and smiled at his little brother, as though they were not about to part for the rest of Alphonse's life. "Al," he said simply, raising his arms, and Alphonse immediately understood.

Roy stood mutely, helplessly at the edge of the circle as the giant suit of armor lifted the thin, weakened boy with the greatest of care and carried him gently to the center of the circle. Slowly, Alphonse lowered himself to a sitting position, holding Edward in his arms. The brothers looked into each other's eyes...and for the first time since they had gotten the dreadful news that his heart was too weak to survive, Edward broke down.

Normally, Roy would be thinking of five clever ways to teasingly remind Edward that he was blubbering like a girl, but this time he was speechless as he sank to his knees. The brothers didn't say anything. They didn't have to. Alphonse didn't protest or try to change Edward's mind, but he made sounds that echoed in his chest as well as the room – sounds that sounded like something dying, like a soul steadily breaking into pieces. And Edward spoke no meaningless words of empty comfort, but he cried and pressed his face against the cold metal of Alphonse's helmet.

Edward Elric's heart was weak? Roy had never seen one half so strong.

The bright light of alchemy was nothing but a blur in his eyes. He could feel the power racing around him, but he felt oddly disconnected from it. Even as giant doors opened before him and everything there was to know about alchemy rushed through his mind, he still seemed to see the brothers clutching to each other with all their might, as they embarked on this final journey together.

Shuddering from the rush of the power, Roy slowly picked himself off the hard concrete floor. He knew what he would see when he turned to look at the center of the circle, but the sight still made his heart leap into his throat. A single, skinny boy lay curled up among the shattered remains of the suit of armor.

The boy resembled Edward to a painful extent, but Roy didn't have to look for automail limbs or scars or well-toned muscles to know it wasn't. Weak little sobs bounced off the walls, scattering pitiful whimpers of, "Brother...Brother..."

Roy gathered up the red coat draped over the back of the empty wheelchair and brought it to Alphonse, wrapping it around the boy's frail body before gathering him up into his arms. Alphonse shook from the cold and his tears, and Roy held him closer to give him as much comfort as he could. He knew it wouldn't be much. He was still trying to accept that Edward was _gone._

That reminded him of the last thing Edward had said to him before they began work on the transmutation circle: _When I'm gone...take care of Al for me, okay? He won't be used to his body at first, but also...Al needs a big brother, you know?_

Yes, he knew. That much had always been obvious. Roy was sure he would never make as good a brother as Edward. But he would do his best.


	28. Love Triangle

**Author's Note: Well, it felt like time for another light-hearted chapter, though once again I'm falling flat on my face in the attempt at humor. This actually took me a really long time to come up with; these romancey prompts just don't translate so well to this relationship, obviously. This was as close as I could come. Also, I honestly couldn't find a way to insert the words of the theme into the chapter like I usually do.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 28: Love triangle**

It had to be the most embarrassing moment of his life. How had he _ever_ thought this would be a good idea? Hawkeye stirred sugar into her coffee, but when he said nothing she turned around, politely inquisitive. "Yes?" she prompted. "What did you want to ask me?"

Edward could _feel_ the bright red blush seeping across his face, and he shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but at her face. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, then squeezed his eyes shut and blurted, "I'm gonna ask Winry to marry me!"

He wanted to sink into the floor, and was about to high-tail it out of the room and never tell another living soul when Hawkeye drew him into a hug. His surprise made him forget his embarrassment for a moment; he couldn't recall a single time that Hawkeye had embraced _anyone._ Before he could collect himself enough to do anything, she broke away and held him at arm's length, beaming at him with an almost motherly pride. She looked him up and down (Edward noticed for the first time that she _did_ have to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye) and said quietly, "Congratulations."

Edward grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck, but even though that was the only thing she said, it somehow immediately put him at his ease. She'd always had that effect on people. "Um...you see...I was wondering if I could ask you _how_ to ask her." He fumbled the ring he'd already purchased out of his pocket. "I mean, I've got the ring and everything..."

He was still blushing, but Hawkeye made no indication she noticed as she took a contemplative sip of her coffee. "Well, you know Winry much better than I do, but every woman I know would appreciate a simple, honest approach. It doesn't have to be elaborate. She already knows you love her, doesn't she?"

Edward's gut twisted uncomfortably inside him. _Did_ she know? It had taken him a long time to admit to himself that he _did_ love her, enough to marry her. He'd never been able to dredge up the courage to admit it to her before...and they were always fighting... Did she know? Did she even love him back? He realized he'd always sort of assumed that if he just asked, she would immediately say yes. But then...when he'd asked her years ago, when they were kids, she'd turned him down flat...

Gently, Hawkeye nudged him back to the present. "Why don't you practice?"

"Wha...? You mean, right now?"

She smiled. "No one else is here."

She had a point. He'd managed to corner Hawkeye when the break room was empty. So, blushing again, he sank onto one knee and held up the ring. He felt stupid, but Hawkeye nodded encouragingly, so he cleared his throat and began.

"Um...Winry," he said to Hawkeye's knees. "I don't really know how to say this... I've known you for almost as long as I can remember, so I guess I just never thought about it, but...I love you." As he spoke, he thought less about how embarrassing this whole situation was, and focused on the image of Winry in his mind. "I guess I should've said so before, but you know how it was...I was always running around and trying to get Al back, so I didn't have time for you. But I want to change that now. Maybe I'm not your ideal guy, but I want to do the best I can for you. So...will you marry me?"

He looked up swiftly for Hawkeye's reaction, but she had barely even opened her mouth when a voice suddenly spluttered behind him, "Full Metal! Wh-What's going on here?"

Edward leapt to his feet as if he'd been branded, blushing furiously again, and thrust the ring back into his pocket. Trust _Mustang_ to come in at exactly the wrong moment. Hawkeye's only sign of irritation was a slight compressing of her lips before saying, "Sir, if I may-"

"No." He held up a finger to stall her, glaring at Edward all the while. "Full Metal – my office. _Now._"

He grumbled, but of course he had to follow. It had been ingrained into him after all these years. So he trudged behind Mustang back to his office, slouching so he even looked the same height as he used to. Edward was sure Mustang took great pleasure in that. Soon enough, they were back in the office, but instead of sitting lazily behind his desk, Mustang turned on his heel to face Edward directly as soon as the door closed behind them.

"What was that?" he exploded. "That...That indecent display of...of..." He seemed to be having a hard time forming words strong enough to convey his thoughts; he was gesturing in the vague direction of the break room. "And do you realize that Hawkeye is more than twelve years-"

"I wasn't proposing to _Hawkeye!_" he yelled, shutting Mustang up. "If you _must_ know, I was practicing for Winry!"

Mustang stood with his mouth hanging stupidly open for a few moments, then managed a small, "Oh."

Edward snorted and turned away. "Sheesh, as if I'd marry _Hawkeye._ I don't know why you had to get so hot and bothered about it anyway..." He trailed off, his brain slowly catching up. Then he turned back and squinted suspiciously at Mustang, who suddenly seemed to find the bookcase fascinating. But there was an unmistakable rosy tint to his cheeks.

Smirking triumphantly at his little find, Edward turned to go. "If you hurry, you might still catch her."

When, a month later, he received an invitation to Mustang's small, private wedding, Edward just snickered quietly to himself.


	29. The Other Side

**Author's Note: I've really had to dash this one off, because I'm going to AWA today (squee!), and that has thrown my already-hectic college schedule into a frenzy. Thus, I don't feel like I quite grasped what I was trying to convey in this piece, but hopefully you'll sort of see what I was aiming at, because I really do see some parallels there. Incidentally, the panel of the manga where Ed is shaking Mustang by the heel is one of my absolute favorite interactions of the two.**

**Timeline: Chapter 101-102/Episode 59**

**Theme 29: The other side**

"You are our fifth sacrifice," Pride said in his quiet, almost innocent voice. "Our _final_ sacrifice."

Sheer terror coursed through Roy's body, overriding even the jabs of pain from Bradley's swords pinning his hands to the ground. He gazed up in horror at Bradley's single, merciless eye and knew that it would be useless to struggle. He was unable to resist. Unable to do anything but watch as his doom sped swiftly towards him. At least Hawkeye was alive...at least...

Suddenly, Bradley stood, jerked his swords out of Roy's hands, and stepped out of the makeshift circle Pride had made with his tendrils of shadow. Before Roy could do anything but gasp at the agony in his hands, the circle lit up. "No," he breathed, trying to get to his feet. He knew all too well what human transmutation meant. He'd seen the results day after day for four years. But he knew it was no use. The last thing he heard before silence closed on his ears was Hawkeye screaming his name.

_Don't shout; your wound is still-_

Roy looked around in confusion and fear, his thought dying away before it was even fully formed. Everything around him was completely white, everything except for a huge door made of what looked like stone, carved with intricate designs that resonated somewhere deep inside his soul. Why did it feel as though he'd been here before...or as if someone had described this place in detail...?

Suddenly he had the feeling he wasn't alone, and whirled around to find the empty whiteness had taken on a vaguely human form. It was the same white hue as the endless expanse around them, yet somehow he could clearly see that it stood as tall as him, arms crossed over its chest and a huge, toothy grin splitting its otherwise featureless face. Roy stared at the area where the being should have had eyes, and felt something recoil in him. Something bad was going to happen around this _thing,_ but he couldn't quite remember...

_I think you know the drill, Al-che-mist._

And then he remembered. How could he have forgotten so quickly? This was what Edward called "the Truth," something he was always reluctant to speak about but that he accredited with his ability to perform transmutations by clapping. If this was the Truth, then Roy was about to see all the secrets of alchemy...in return for...something.

If possible, the being's grin widened. _Precisely,_ it said – or at least, Roy _thought_ it had spoken. _Are you ready for all the knowledge the world contains?_

He wasn't.

Edward had told him, the one time they had discussed this before Edward had indicated they were never to bring it up again, that so much information had been implanted into his mind at once that it felt like his head would explode. But that didn't describe the half of it. More and more facts and processes and truths and laws and techniques poured into Roy's mind, and it seemed as though he saw every instant in the history of the universe all in one moment, and in that moment he could see to the end of time. But every new scrap of knowledge that thrust itself into his brain pushed something else aside, deconstructing and reconstructing his conception of reality till he didn't even know who he was anymore.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the confusion stopped and Roy stood once more in the empty expanse, panting and staring in horror at the diabolical creature now leaning luxuriously against nothing, crossing its legs at the ankles. _Had enough? I'm afraid that's all for now. Let's discuss your toll._

Edward sprang to mind, and Roy clung to that thought as his anchor in this new, confusing wave of information. He didn't even know where Edward had gone – he'd disappeared, disintegrated into the floor. He hoped the boy was alive, if only so he could explain what was going on. Edward had already been through this; he'd paid the toll twice, so he knew how this worked.

But when Roy came to on the other side, when he heard shouts and running feet in the darkness, he soon realized that his toll was not going to be like Edward's. He felt both arms and legs just to be sure, but he could still feel the pain in his palms and the chill from the concrete against his legs. What had it taken?

He couldn't see a thing in the gloom, and flinched slightly when he heard footsteps run up to him. Where was he? What was Father's plan for him? But then a few of his doubts were alleviated when he felt a metal hand on his shoulder and heard a voice near at hand.

"_Mustang!_ What the heck are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

Roy rubbed his eyes. It was so dark he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. "I...don't know," he muttered, shaking his head to clear it. He was still trying to process everything he'd seen. "They said I was the fifth sacrifice, and sent me to this white place with a huge gate..."

"_White place?_" Edward practically shouted, suddenly shaking Roy all over as if expecting loose change to fall out of his pockets. "What did it take? Have you still got your arms and legs?"

With difficulty, Roy pushed the boy off of him. Pain jabbed up his arms from his hands again, and he winced.

"You _are_ hurt!" Edward said, almost triumphantly. "Where does it hurt? C'mon, tell me what it took!"

"How can you see when it's so dark?" Roy asked irritably, cradling his hands.

"Wha...? It's not dark..."

Slowly, Roy straightened, blinking and rubbing his eyes as everything clicked into place. He couldn't tell if Edward had figured it out yet or not, but the boy stiffened and fell silent. Just to be sure, Roy waved his hand in front of his face, but nothing changed the complete darkness around him. He let his hand drop back into his lap and said, stunned, "I can't see."

That was the cost for what he'd seen in the Gate. And somehow, it seemed ten times worse than the arm and leg Edward had given up. Roy felt alone, as though everything around him had faded away into this infernal blackness, and he felt terror like never before. Now he couldn't do anything to protect himself or the people around him. Always before, even when he faced the most frightening enemies, he'd been able to rely on his strength and skill. Now he wouldn't even be able to tell if he was in danger. He was completely useless, even more so than when he tried to use a waterlogged glove.

And, even worse than that, it would be ridiculously easy for Father to use him for whatever purpose his "human sacrifices" were supposed to fulfill. He wouldn't even be able to fight back, and would make it that much easier for Father to destroy the world as they knew it. To think that once he had fancied he could protect people and save everyone from this monster. What arrogance.

Then, like a ray of light cutting through the darkness, he felt the metal hand on his shoulder again. It seemed that Edward didn't even realize he had done it; he was busy yelling at Father and telling him he would never win. For a moment, Roy could almost believe him. It was as though Edward were silently telling him, _Hey, I know what that feels like, but you've gotta get up and move forward._

And now Roy was the cripple sitting in the wheelchair with deadened eyes and no hope. Edward stomped in, shouted in his face, and left a fire smoldering in Roy's heart. Even after Edward plunged forward recklessly to fight Father and Roy was once more lost in a dark, unfamiliar world, the fire crackled deep inside him. He caught himself thinking rapidly about what he could do in his position, even if he couldn't see.

He reminded himself to thank Edward later..._if_ they lived to see the dawn of another day.


	30. The Horizon

**Author's Note: I've just realized that, with a few exceptions, I've been alternating between Ed and Mustang's perspectives without even realizing it! At least a lot more frequently than I did in **_**A Hundred Ways to Say You're My Brother,**_** in which most of them were from Ed's point of view rather than Al's. Anyway, this just seemed to flow naturally out of the previous chapter. The look of horror on Ed's face in that chapter was begging to be elaborated on.**

**Timeline: Postseries (specifically Brotherhood)**

**Theme 30: The horizon**

There were many things Edward Elric would have to get used to after the Promised Day. There were the good things – the _wonderful_ things – like having his right arm back, knowing he wouldn't have to worry about Father or the Homunculi again for as long as he lived, and being able to reach out and feel how soft and warm his brother was now. But of course, in order to get these things, a price had to be paid, and that was the hard part.

His whole arm trembled now whenever he lifted it, grossly disproportionate to the firm muscles of his left arm. And as painful and inconvenient as it could be at times, the automail arm had been handy at times – after all, how awesome was it that he'd been able to turn his arm into a _sword?_ More than that, he knew he was going to miss alchemy. The curse of the Truth was that he still retained every scrap of knowledge he'd gleaned from the Gate and could still comprehend everything – he could even draw the circles with as precise details as ever – but couldn't access the power that had flowed through him just hours ago. The doors inside him that used to open at will, harnessing all the power of the earth beneath him, were eternally closed.

It would have been easy to feel sorry for himself, but Edward kept looking around and realizing he'd got off incredibly easy, all things considered. So he'd lost some blood and had to go through therapy for _both_ arms after the damage Father had done to him. Some of the soldiers overwhelming the military hospital had lost whole limbs, or were paralyzed, or hung somewhere between life and death. Many had lost close friends, even family, in the turmoil that had ripped through Central the day before. Hawkeye had almost been beheaded, Buccaneer and Fuu had given their lives to take down Bradley, and even _Hohenheim_ had been an inch from death, not that Edward cared or anything.

The injury that bothered him the most, though, was Mustang. It felt weird to admit that, but everyone who hadn't died already would walk away from this in one piece and be able to return to their normal lives once the government settled down. But not Mustang.

Whenever Edward thought about the colonel, a cold weight settled into his stomach, ruining the sheer joy he should be experiencing with Alphonse in the flesh at last. He didn't think he would ever forget the moment when he looked at the dark, intense eyes he knew so well, and realized they were staring blankly at nothing. That they would never be able to look each other in the eye again. That the man who had already given up so much to save his country would never see the results.

Where was the equivalent trade in _that?_

Edward hesitated outside Mustang's door. He couldn't recall ever being this hesitant to see his commanding officer before; normally he kicked the door until it opened and stomped in, complaining in as loud and irritating a voice as he could manage. But now he couldn't be a State Alchemist anymore, and at the moment they couldn't even be sure that Mustang would stay a colonel, and he was afraid of those eyes.

Furious with himself, Edward told himself over and over that just because Mustang was blind now didn't mean anything fundamental had changed. He tried to knock, but his right fist trembled too much so he awkwardly knocked with his left instead, his movements hampered by the tight bandage around his shoulder.

It relieved him more than he liked to admit when he heard the deep voice he knew so well call out calmly, "Come in."

Edward blinked in surprise when he stepped in. The last thing he'd expected to see was Mustang sitting up in bed, surrounded by piles and piles of books. After a moment's confusion, he understood: Breda and Falman sat on either side with a book open on each of their laps. Hawkeye sat in the bed next to Mustang's, taking notes and not seeming bothered in the slightest by the wide strip of bandage around her neck. Fury was setting up his portable radio in the corner.

"Um...hi, guys." Edward glanced from one to another while he crossed to the foot of Mustang's bed. "What're you doing?"

The look of intense concentration lifted from Mustang's face. "Full Metal." There wasn't the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice, as if he could actually see him. "I'm researching the architecture and culture of Ishbal. If all goes well, I hope to start the Ishbal Restoration by the end of July, and I need to brush up on the details."

Edward stared at Mustang, the man who had far more right than he did for pitying himself. But Mustang hadn't stumbled to a halt, even though he couldn't see a thing. He was moving forward, with just as much unfathomable ambition as ever.

"It's a good thing you dropped by, Full Metal," he continued, gazing vaguely in Edward's general direction. "I'd like a few pointers about this clap-alchemy technique, and as Mrs. Curtis already left and your father is nowhere to be found..."

Edward snorted, pretending to be offended. "Oh, so I'm your last resort, huh?"

But he still couldn't keep from grinning. He realized now that Mustang's blind eyes weren't gazing at nothing. They were looking ahead, to the horizon.


	31. To Be Hurt, to Heal

**Author's Note: This is an offshoot of a very melodramatic idea I was attempting for a completely different prompt. Ultimately, that idea has split into what I'll write for that prompt, a completely separate chapterfic, and this. The previous theme was just so hopeful that I _had_ to capitalize on the angst inherent in this theme :P**

**Timeline: Midseries AU**

**Theme 31: To be hurt, to heal**

_For feathersnow, my litmus test for melodrama_

"Um...make yourself at home," Roy said lamely. His words fell flat on the empty air. "I'll just be downstairs, so call me if you need anything."

Edward slowly stepped into the spare bedroom Roy had fixed up for him, casting his gaze around but not seeming to take anything in. Finally he sank down onto the quilt the Madame had made for Roy years and years ago, before she'd taken in the younger girls and run out of time for such things. It was one of the few female touches Roy had in this house, and he'd hoped it would brighten up the otherwise dingy, unused room. Maybe it was just Edward's disconsolate expression, but the room just looked more depressing than ever.

When Edward said nothing, Roy pulled the door to and went back downstairs, but then he just stood awkwardly in the hall and wondered what he ought to do. He wanted to be considerate and tactful, of course, but he also didn't want the boy to feel abandoned or lonely. What was he supposed to do?

How did you comfort a boy who had just lost his last remaining family member, his best friend, his only reason for living?

He found himself thinking back to when his master had died, and he'd been left to figure out how to treat the girl he hadn't seen in years. He remembered thinking how much Hawkeye had matured since he'd gone off to the military academy, how she didn't even cry though she was suddenly bereft of her entire family. Roy hadn't known what to do, but as the evening drew on he'd realized she was just sitting in the front room, staring into space and not even changing out of the skirt she'd worn to the funeral. So he'd fixed them both a light supper. The evening had ended bizarrely, of course, and probably hadn't done much to comfort her, but at least she'd smiled a little.

It was an entirely different situation here, Roy realized, but he busied himself with the preparations for a meal all the same. Edward was acting much the same way as Hawkeye had, and while Roy didn't think Edward would end up showing him a tattoo etched across his entire back, he hoped to elicit a similar response. It would let him believe that somehow, they would get through this.

Roy decided on stew, because it would be warm and soothing, and because he seemed to remember Edward getting inordinately excited when they were serving some in the cafeteria one day. He'd also complained about the taste and ranted about which spices had been left out, but Roy suspected he'd only done so in order to make Alphonse feel better about not being able to eat.

He viciously cut the chunks of onion into smaller and smaller cubes, eyes smarting.

Finally the stew was done, and Roy carried a tray up the stairs, since Edward hadn't ventured down yet. When he reached the door, he expertly balanced the tray on one hand (pleased he remembered how even though it had been so long since he'd helped the Madame in her shop) and knocked softly. He heard no answer, so he pushed the door open, expecting to see Edward in the same position, oblivious to the world around him.

Something inside him shifted, and it grew hard to breathe again. Edward lay sprawled on the bed, lying on his side and hugging his right arm against his chest. He breathed softly in deep, exhausted slumber, his face screwed up as if in pain. Roy set the tray down on the bedside table and looked down at the boy. Twelve years old – almost thirteen, as Edward would vehemently remind him – and already scarred inside and out. Orphaned, crippled, hounded by villains and crooks...and now, robbed of everything that had made up for it.

Roy stared at Edward's right arm, warm and living and pulsing with blood, only a little thinner than his left. In what irrational universe was your life and soul worth the same as one limb?

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and touch Edward, but he thought better of it. Best to leave him in the depths of oblivion than to bring him back to harsh reality. Heaving a sigh, Roy left him alone again.

* * *

By the end of the week, Edward came downstairs for meals and responded quietly when spoken to. Roy kept on having to remind himself that things were going to move slowly without Alphonse around. He forced himself to imagine what it would feel like if one of his sisters died, or Hughes, or even Hawkeye. And how much worse would it feel, knowing they'd effectively killed themselves to get back the arm he had lost?

Late at night, after the dishes were washed and Edward had disappeared to his room again, when he wasn't tired enough to collapse in bed and no amount of reading or overdue work or alcohol could distract him, Roy found himself cursing Alphonse. Such a sweet boy, but such a cruel one too. Not just anyone would give up their very life to restore something that wasn't even endangering Edward's life...but then, not just anyone would suck all the life out of his own brother, stealing him away as surely as if he'd killed him. And Roy hated to admit it, but he _missed_ Edward.

He couldn't go on like this. He'd offered Edward a place to stay, and was perfectly willing to uphold that offer until he could get back on his feet again – after all, it was the least he could do. But Edward didn't seem any closer to recovery than before. Roy wondered if it would help if the boy just _cried_ for once, to begin to acknowledge what he had lost and move on. But Edward never cried, at least not while Roy was around. He was cold and emotionless as a stone, and whenever Roy tentatively brought up the subject of Alphonse or asked him if he wanted to talk, Edward would just get up and walk out of the room.

And then there were the nightmares. Roy would hear soft, gasping cries from Edward's room, and sometimes a thudding sound as though the boy was lashing out in his sleep, banging the bed against the wall. Roy wanted to go in and wake him up, to somehow relieve him from this torment, but Edward locked his door at night. There was nothing he could do. He wasn't Edward's brother, so there wasn't that trust or that easy knowledge that would let him help, no matter how much he wanted to.

Finally, after consulting with Hughes ("You gotta get him something to do, something to keep his mind off things"), Roy thought he had the solution. When he came back from work, he called Edward down from his room. Usually he only called him at mealtimes, and like always, the boy shuffled slowly down the stairs. But this time, Roy didn't have a meal waiting for him at the table. Edward blinked and raised tired eyes as Roy sat down across from him and pulled out the folder he'd brought back from headquarters.

"You ought to see this," he said in his usual business tone, pushing the folder across the table. "It seems like a very promising lead, if you ask me."

Slowly, Edward opened the folder, using his left hand out of habit as he'd done ever since getting his right arm back. "Lead?"

"For the Philosopher's Stone. To get your leg back."

He waited for the light of purpose to glimmer in Edward's eyes again, for some tiny sliver of the boy he'd known to manifest itself. Slowly, Edward raised both hands to his face and curled them into fists, turning them over as if to examine the difference between them.

Suddenly, Edward lashed out with his left hand, sending the folder to the floor. "Shut up!" While papers floated dizzily to the floor, he tucked his right arm against his body, raced out of the kitchen and up the stairs, and slammed his door behind him.

Edward had told him to shut up countless times before, but never had Roy felt so much rebuke from those words. He sat in the same position for a long time, Edward's suddenly enraged face flashing before his eyes. He'd thought he'd be relieved if the boy ever became angry with him again, but now that he had...Roy felt such crippling remorse he didn't seem able to move.

How could he have been so _stupid_ as to bring up such a raw topic in the hopes that it would distract Edward from his grief? The whole reason Alphonse had sacrificed himself was because he had decided the search for the Philosopher's Stone was too hard on his brother, and wanted to put an end to it. Roy saw now that he was making no headway with Edward because he didn't _deserve_ it. He obviously could do nothing but make everything worse.

Wearily, Roy got up and started gathering the papers scattered all over the floor. Just as he was wondering if Edward would ever speak to him again, a scream broke through the quiet house. A real, pained scream. From upstairs.

Roy was halfway up the stairs before he realized he'd moved. "Edward?" he cried, bursting through the door that Edward had left unlocked for once. When he stepped over the threshold, he stumbled to a halt in the middle of the floor and stared, aghast.

Edward, shirtless, was tangled in the metal bars of the headboard of his bed. His right arm was still stuck between three of the bars – stuck at a sickening angle that suggested it was broken. But that wasn't all. His entire right arm was covered with a magnificent collage of lacerations and bruises, some larger than others, some bleeding, some already angry red scars.

Roy snapped into action, racing to the boy's side. Edward's face was grey and clammy, his eyes glassy and dim from the pain. When Roy gingerly pulled his broken arm from between the bars, Edward fell limp in a dead faint. For a moment, Roy held the boy in his arms and just gaped at him. Suddenly the sounds he'd been hearing every night took on a new meaning, and Roy had to swallow his rising bile. All this had been going on, and he'd been none the wiser. How had such a small boy done so much damage to himself?

* * *

When Edward finally woke in the hospital after his arm was seen to and he'd been given a large dose of pain medication, Roy was there waiting for him. Their eyes instantly connected, and Roy wondered if anything could ever be the same again. If he would ever see the boy he'd known so well. If they'd ever be able to settle back into the easy camaraderie of happier days. "Why?" he whispered.

"Al." And as soon as that word left Edward's mouth, his eyes welled up with tears and he began to cry for the first time since it had happened. It was as though all the emotion he'd been holding in check gushed out of him now, sobs shaking his whole body and barely letting him breathe.

Roy tentatively reached over and grasped Edward's left hand. "I didn't want you to be hurt anymore," he said softly. "I just wanted you to heal, to be whole again."

"I'm s-sorry," Edward mumbled, seemingly unable to stop crying. He gripped Roy's hand harder and harder, finally choking out between his tears, "Help me."

"I will," he promised. His voice broke, but he firmly clasped Edward's hand between both of his. "I will."


	32. Precious Things and Treasure

**Author's Note: Okay, this one might be a yawner, but don't worry, the next one will be muy interesante, I guarantee it ;) I guess this is what happens when I think I can get past a hard prompt without feathersnow's help, but oh well. Just an odd idea that came to me literally as soon as I sat down and thought to myself, "Okay, I really need to actually decide what I'm going to write for this, now that I have to post on Friday." (Lo and behold, I'm actually posting it on Saturday :P) Zero preparation or brainstorming, so I just went with what came to mind and tried to keep the analogies consistent. This was also a great excuse to use a bunch of high-falutin' words I don't normally get to use :3**

**Timeline: None**

**Theme 32: Precious things/Treasure**

If Roy Mustang was the king, then they were the precious things he stored in his treasure chambers. He hoarded them, covetously counted them late into the night to make sure that no fool had snuck into his castle, daring to pilfer a single coin of his wealth. He was sure to know when any one of them was missing, and would summon that thief to be thoroughly trounced.

If Edward Elric was the subject, then Roy Mustang was the king. His taxes were heavy and forced his subjects to work long and hard for every penny, and Edward Elric complained far and wide how heavy this burden was. But when the time came for war, the king used every one of those hard-earned pennies to protect his people, and the peasants knew they could live without fear as long as their king was on the throne.

If Roy Mustang was the lord, then Edward Elric was the knight in shining armor. At his liege's bidding, he sallied forth, slaying beasts and defeating enemies that caused the forces of darkness to encroach upon the land. He won glory, and all lauded him for his mighty feats, but he knew all the while that it was due the king who sent him forth. And so he returned and knelt before the throne, offering up his sword in fealty.

If Edward Elric was the glittering ruby, then Roy Mustang was the emperor who fingered the glittering jewel, considered, and then placed it in the center of his crown where it could catch the rays of the sun and dazzle all who looked upon his glory. For none had seen so beautiful nor so large a gem, wrought by the hands of nature and shaped by the hands of men. When they looked upon their emperor, their eyes would immediately be drawn to the crowning jewel.

But if Roy Mustang was a colonel, then Edward Elric was the major, the State Alchemist, the brat who always chose the worst moment to burst in and harass him. They bickered and scoffed, shouted and laughed and shouted some more, then went their separate ways and pretended to forget. But they each bore the other's name, carried the other's renown with them at every step. And so, no matter how they complained, they knew they would always come full-circle to one another.


	33. Magic

**Author's Note: I've had this idea for quite a while, but never felt enough incentive to actually write it until I started doing this fic. The whole chimera thing is really overdone in the world of fanfiction, but I've noticed that people are always limiting it to dogs and cats o.0 I mean, sure, Nina was a dog chimera, but...really? Has no one besides me thought of _this_ combination? You'll probably be able to tell where this is headed immediately, but I've always wanted to extrapolate the chimera thing to its ultimate conclusion – or penultimate, at least. I'll also readily admit that my views of chimeras are greatly influenced by Sevlow's fic "Number Twenty-Eight." But, since I'm not as awesome as Sevlow, I chose to write this brief chapter rather than do a whole chapterfic.  
**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme : Magic**

"All right," Roy Mustang sighed, sliding into the passenger seat. "Let's get this over with."

"This is an important lead in the case, sir," Hawkeye gently chided as she started the car and began to drive towards the edge of town. "We should give it our full attention."

Roy sighed again and rested his chin on his fist. "This is what Full Metal is supposed to be for. Who does he think he is, going scarce at a time like this? He's supposed to report in _regularly,_ and this is _exactly_ why!"

"Maybe they found another lead. You know how excited they would be; Edward probably just didn't want to return until he made sure it wouldn't lead to the Philosopher's Stone after all."

"I suppose," Roy grudgingly relented, still frowning. It wasn't just that this was a tedious lead that probably wouldn't take them any further to catching their wayward military official. Edward would have actually _wanted_ to be involved in this case for once. Ever since the Tucker fiasco, Edward would flinch or scowl at the mere mention of chimeras; as soon as he heard that Ferguson was trying to continue Tucker's work, Edward would go _crazy._ Ferguson wouldn't stand a chance; with an enraged Elric or two on his tail, he would be behind bars by the end of the night. Edward would be fueled by the memories of how Nina Tucker had suffered, and by guilt once he learned that Ferguson had taken over _his_ task of putting Tucker's research in order.

A sour taste filled Roy's mouth. Maybe it was best, in the end, that Edward would come back in a week or two, once this whole thing had blown over. He remembered the deadened, hollow look in Edward's eyes the last time he'd come in contact with chimeras.

Finally Hawkeye pulled into a spot at the very edge of the circus parking lot. Roy felt very out of place as he and Hawkeye joined the throngs milling about and streaming off into the several huge, garishly bright tents. They'd decided to go in civilian garb, so as not to give themselves away, but it had been so long since he'd gone to the annual circus that he didn't know what to do anymore. He had a few memories of stuffing his face with cotton candy with one sticky hand and clutching at his mother's skirt with the other, but that was all. Oh well, at least he could enjoy the sight of Hawkeye in a skirt with her hair down.

They made their way to the tent they'd seen in the advertisements, the ones that shouted in huge letters, "Come and see Magic Mojo and his TALKING MONKEY!" It was a long shot, but lately they'd been coming up with nothing but mangled animal corpses and deformed bits of children. They needed to catch Ferguson _now,_ before any more victims fell into his grasp.

The line for 'Magic Mojo' was unbelievably long. Roy wished they could have just barged through on military authority, gone to the front of the line, and ascertained whether this was a waste of time or not. But as it was, they stood in the heat and the close confines of the tent for an hour and a half before they came in sight of the cage. It was hard to make out between the crowds of shuffling people and overexcited children, but Roy could see a mass of golden-brown fur sitting near the bars. Standing next to it was Magic Mojo himself, a man so shrouded in a turban and shawl that it was impossible to make out his features.

As they drew closer, Roy kept his eyes on Magic Mojo, trying to discern whether Ferguson might be hiding behind those bright scarves, hoping to gain some extra funding for his experiments by exhibiting this 'monkey'. But after a moment, Roy became aware of what the man was saying.

"Come on, step right up, hear the magic talking monkey! What is your name?"

The little girl at the front of the line piped up, "Emily!"

The mass of fur shifted, and from it issued a hoarse croak of "Em'ly."

"It spoke, it spoke! It really spoke!" The little girl skipped off happily.

They shuffled forward, and Mustang peered around heads and shoulders to get a better look at the 'monkey'.

"What's your name?"

"Michael."

"Mm."

Magic Mojo kicked at the heap of fur, which let out a small grunt of pain and valiantly tried again. "M-mukull."

The man laughed nastily. "I think your magic needs a little fine-tuning, Mojo."

Mustang could tell despite the scarf that Magic Mojo was embarrassed and furious. "Next!" he barked and the line shuffled forward.

"The name's Bartholomew," the next man said, leering down at the creature. "If you can say that, then I'll pay double."

The furry creature hunched down into itself for a moment, but at a nudge from Mojo's foot, it rallied and straightened again. A large woman in front of Mustang shifted, and he finally got a clear view. It certainly _looked_ like an ape of some sort, if a very hairy one; locks of its fur shaded its face from sight except for the large mouth. Cracked, dry lips parted and the raspy voice issued forth again, enunciating as carefully as its animal lips and tongue could manage. "Bar...tall...um...moo."

The man didn't look terribly impressed, and walked off without even dropping a single cenz into the payment box in front of the cage. Enraged, Mojo cracked a whip and the creature recoiled with a whimper, holding one paw over its head for protection. A few of the women in line murmured and moved away, making Mojo only angrier than ever. He raised the whip again, and the creature skittered out of the way, hiding in the corner. As it moved, Roy realized that it only had two limbs. A front leg and a hind leg. The left arm and right leg.

Heart pounding, Roy stepped up in front of the cage. Mojo finally got the creature to clamber back to the bars with a mixture of oaths and cracks of the whip. "Your name!" he snapped at Roy.

Instead of answering, Roy sank onto one knee so he was at eye level with the ape creature. Wearily, it raised its head and its flat eyes floated across Roy's face. But then they stopped, and met Roy's questing gaze. Their eyes connected, and the creature's lit up with a flicker of..._something._ Dark, wrinkled fingers curled around one iron bar of the cage. In torn shreds of a voice, it faltered, "Mus...tan?"

All the breath rushed from his lungs as, somewhere above him, he heard Hawkeye whisper, "No..."

"All right, all right, move it along!" Mojo said irritably. "You've had your turn, sir!"

Roy gritted his teeth so hard he was almost surprised they didn't crack in his mouth. He reached out and touched the rough, leathery hand of the chimera. "Arthur Ferguson," he growled, not even looking up as he heard Hawkeye pull her gun from its holster and point it at Mojo. "You are under arrest for kidnap and human transmutation."

* * *

When Alphonse came clumping in two days later, demanding at the top of his voice where his brother was, Roy almost wished he could say that he didn't know. That Edward had died. It would be kinder than the truth.

The boy's mind was gone. His spirit was gone. His fiery, brilliant, touchy personality was hidden so far beneath layers of the animal that no one would have been able to tell it was Edward Elric anymore if they hadn't known. Those first two days, Edward clung to him with hand and foot, making an awful, hoarse whimpering sound whenever Roy so much as got up to go to the bathroom. Once Alphonse returned with horrific stories of how their human transmutation research had eventually led them right into Ferguson's hands and separated them, Edward became equally clingy to his brother. The only times he seemed perfectly content were when the three were together.

But Edward was obviously in pain, every moment of every day. Ferguson's theory, building off of Tucker's research and horrible experiments, had been that the most successful chimeras would result from the combination of similar species; if a human could be combined with another primate, the transmutation would be less likely to rebound. But a human was still different from a monkey, and Edward's muscles and organs were twisted around so hopelessly it was a wonder he was even still alive. They tried to give him medication, but any dose strong enough to make him comfortable also put him to sleep, and Roy knew they couldn't keep doing this. Edward needed to _live._ He'd had his whole life ahead of him. So much potential, just waiting for him to reach out and grasp it.

But what could they do? There was no way to reverse a chimera transmutation. To separate two living creatures that had been bonded at the molecular level, without completely disintegrating, especially if you wanted one to be living and breathing when you were done without taking the alchemist's life as well...that was impossible.

At least...impossible without a Philosopher's Stone.

* * *

When Edward opened his eyes, he didn't understand at first. He felt...expansive. As though he'd been curled in a ball for his whole life and had finally been able to stretch. Slowly, he closed his eyes, licked his lips, and flexed his fingers. He brought his left hand up to his face and saw that it was smooth and bare. The fingers were no longer curled, and there was no longer any of that thick, matted hair.

Then it all rushed on him at once, why he felt so bare and naked. Everything that had happened to him. The tiny space his mind had occupied until now, finally, he could trace complex thoughts again and think of more than just what was in front of him. Alchemy.

"Brother?"

A grin broke across his face even before he turned his head to see Alphonse leaning towards him, half-rising from the chair next to his hospital bed. He had seen the suit of armor many times while he had been a chimera, but somehow it just wasn't the same... Chimera...

"It's really you, isn't it?" Alphonse whispered, gently grasping Edward's single hand. "Thank goodness."

"Yeah...Yeah, it's me..." Tears welled up, and he couldn't suppress them. Every moment of pain, of distress, of embarrassment, seemed dissolved in those tears, and he didn't know how long he cried, but by the time he couldn't cry anymore, he felt exhausted. Alphonse kept gently rubbing his hand back and forth across Edward's back until he sank back against the pillows and wiped his eyes.

Even as he gratefully smiled up at his brother, another thought struck him. "Where's Mustang?" That face was prominent in his memories, and even though he couldn't remember things very distinctly from that time, he knew that Mustang had been there through it all, helping in so many ways. He'd never imagined that Mustang cared so much about his well-being, but...maybe he'd been wrong all along.

It was always hard to tell, what with Alphonse being an emotionless suit of armor and all, but this question seemed to deflate him. He shifted nervously, then muttered, "Brother, there's...there's something you should know."

"Wait." Sudden fear gripped his heart. "He's not...dead?"

Alphonse shook his head. "He...was the one who made you better again."

Okay, that settled it. He was going to have to give Mustang a _real_ thank-you this time. "How'd he do it?" Edward wondered aloud. They would also have to have a deep discussion of how separating chimeras worked, because this could revolutionize the entire field of alchemy!

But Alphonse didn't seem to find it exciting. His voice was hushed and broken. "He used a Philosopher's Stone."

"No." Something was closing in on him, like a train rushing toward him, leaping off the tracks to tumble down a cliff and crush him, pin him with the truth. "You mean...he made a Stone himself?"

Alphonse wasn't supposed to nod. He was supposed to be horrified that Edward would even think of something so outlandish, that Mustang would stoop that low. "He said there was no other way. He said it wouldn't matter if he made it with prisoners who were on death row anyway. And he said it would be okay if he turned himself in afterwards, because otherwise, he'd...k-keep on justifying things...and no country should be run by somebody like that."

Alphonse's voice died away, and Edward lay back, stunned. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to thank Mustang or cuss him out. In the end, he just swore explosively, rolled onto his side, and fell into a deep sleep. He wondered if it wouldn't have been better if Mustang had just died. It didn't matter that Mustang had done it for him, or that he was man enough to turn himself in. At the end of the day, Mustang had lowered himself, cut himself down. And Edward understood that it was all for him...but that just made him feel worse.

_Colonel, you really are an idiot._


	34. It's Not Anxiety

**Author's Note: Another scene I've been longing to do, because it's one of the very first instances where you see genuine concern between them. I especially like the manga version for the expression on Mustang's face and how quickly he acts. Am I exaggerating his concern? Quite possibly, but let's remember that this is _Scar_ we're talking about.  
**

**Timeline: Chapters 6-7/Episode 5**

**Theme 34: "It's not anxiety"**

"Scar?"

Roy stepped out of the way as the clean-up crew passed him to retrieve Shou Tucker's body.

"Yeah, that's what we've been calling him," Hughes sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"The only information we have received as to his physical appearance is a large scar on his forehead in the shape of an X," Armstrong added.

"So far, he's killed five State Alchemists in the eastern region," Hughes continued. "Altogether, that makes ten in the entire country. All of them ripped apart from the inside, and we don't even know how he does it."

"Yeah, I've heard the rumors." Roy watched the men carry the covered corpse out of the room. Personally, he wasn't too sorry that Tucker was dead; it only seemed fitting for a man who could turn his own daughter into a chimera. And killing the chimera had probably been putting it out of its misery, because no one had ever managed to successfully separate chimeras anyway. No, what sent chills down his spine was that they had no idea _how_ this murderer was accomplishing such horrific executions. Or why.

"Look, I don't want to start a panic, so don't go repeating this," Hughes said in a low voice, "but I heard that just a few days ago, he managed to kill Brigadier General Gran."

"Basque Gran?" Roy tried to keep his voice down, but his shock was making it hard. "But he was one of the most skilled combat alchemists!" He could remember watching the man single-handedly decimate an entire town in Ishbal, transmuting a whole host of cannons and deadly blades from the ground.

Hughes nodded, the same haunted look in his eyes that Roy felt. Hughes had worked under him during the extermination. "That's just how dangerous this man really is. So increase the number of your guard, and just lay low for a while. I'm asking you as a friend. Scar only seems to go after State Alchemists and anyone who gets in his way. Now that Tucker's dead, you're the only State Alchemist stationed in East now, right? You just need to-"

"Oh no." Roy's blood turned cold as his hands slowly curled into fists.

_I think you owe me for this one, Colonel._

_Keep dreaming, Full Metal. You're my subordinate; it was your duty._

_Not if you didn't order it. So, to show your gratitude, I have a favor to ask._

_All right, all right, I'm listening._

_Do you know of any alchemists with experience in biological transmutation?_

_Well, there is Shou Tucker..._

Hughes looked up in surprise. "What's the deal?"

Without bothering to reply, Roy spun on his heel and barked at the nearest soldier. "You!" he snapped. "Confirm the whereabouts of the Elric brothers! Immediately!"

"What?" Hughes gasped behind him.

_We're not gods! We're just humans! Tiny, insignificant humans who can't even save a little girl!_

_You knew you would see terrible things when you signed up with the military. You're going to have to accept this somehow and move forward – or are you going to give up so easily?_

_I...I c-can't..._

"Sir!" Hawkeye interrupted before the soldier could move off to fulfill his orders. "I just met them while leaving HQ. They were headed towards Main Street."

Roy swore. Now, of all times? "Take the cars, head for Main Street! Move!"

He practically ran for his own car, sliding into the back seat with Hughes while Hawkeye and Armstrong took the front. Yet even though Hawkeye drove as fast as she safely could, her mouth a thin line of worry, Roy's heart was racing, _demanding_ that they move faster. _Edward_ was out there, completely oblivious to how much danger he was in. He would still be depressed after what had happened to Nina Tucker, and his reactions would be slower. He would be taken by surprise, not even knowing that he should fear a scarred man until said scarred man had ripped him apart. Even if he was at the top of his form, he wouldn't stand a chance. Not against someone who had managed to kill Basque Gran.

"Hey, Roy," Hughes muttered. "Relax. Ed and Al can hold their own pretty well. We'll get there in time."

"They're just _children._" He had to clench his teeth shut and fold his arms tight across his chest, and even that didn't keep a tiny shiver of dread from running down his spine. It would all end up like that pitiful girl Nina. Sprawled out on the ground. Limbs going every which-way. Blood sprayed out in a magnificent puddle, as though Scar was trying to paint the whole world red.

"I didn't expect you'd show this much anxiety about Ed."

"It's not anxiety!" Roy snapped. When Hughes quirked a skeptical eyebrow, Roy sighed and glared out the window. "It's _abject __terror,_ if you must know."

Because what if Ed died on _his__ watch?_ What if both of them were killed, and it was _his_ responsibility and _his_ fault, because he'd been the one to get them involved in the military in the first place, so if anything happened to them...

"Sir!"

Roy snapped out of his brooding and realized they were there. A large, broad-shouldered man with a shock of white hair loomed over a tiny heap of hair and cloth and scraps of metal. But no blood, at least no blood. Everyone got out of the cars, the rain muffling their footsteps, and Roy pulled out his gun.

Warm relief rushed down his entire body as Edward pushed himself up with his only remaining arm and said, "Just promise me...that you won't hurt my little brother."

Roy glanced over to a nearby alleyway and was shocked to see Alphonse, half of his empty suit of armor blown completely off. He was alive and struggling, yelling at Edward to run for it while he still could. "I swear it," Scar said solemnly, lowering his right hand to place it on the top of Edward's head.

He didn't know what that meant, but he wasn't about to let it go any further. Roy fired the gun into the air and marched forward, his calm confidence falling easily over him again now that he was in command of the situation. "Hold it right there."

Both of them whirled around, having been so focused on their conversation they hadn't noticed they were being surrounded by soldiers. Scar glared murderously at this interference, but Roy had eyes only for Edward. Their eyes locked across the street, and Edward seemed to straighten slightly with relief. He had been an inch from death, but Roy had snatched him away at the last moment.

"That was a close call, Full Metal."


	35. Ordinary

**Author's Note: This is another kind of pathetic chapter, but I'll blame it on finals and then travel. It's an interesting thought that occurred to me while thinking about the prompt; I just wish I could have couched it in a more interesting scenario.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 35: Ordinary**

It hit him one day when Edward limped into his office, reported in an exhausted voice how he had gotten to the bottom of the crime ring in New Optain, and limped out to put in a few hours of research on the Philosopher's Stone. Roy realized that they had both grown used to this over the years, that this entire scenario was routine. He wasn't startled to see that Edward's coat sleeve was in tatters and one of his gloves was missing. He wasn't surprised to read the numbers, scrawled in Edward's clumsy left-handed script, of criminals nursing broken jaws and bloody noses in jail. And he didn't comment on how, if Edward was too exhausted to even yell at an oblique comment about his height, he had no business doing anything but getting some sleep. Roy knew already that Edward would only snap at him, because he had been the one to assign him the mission in the first place and take up his precious time that would have been better spent trying to find a way to help his brother.

But once Edward had closed the door and limped out on his dented automail, Roy sat back and realized how ludicrous the entire situation really was. Ludicrous and sad. After all, Edward was just a _boy,_ no matter how often he insisted he was an adult and ought to be treated like one. He was only just fifteen, and he'd already seen and done more than many who were twice his age.

Edward had never had the chance for an ordinary childhood. No father that he could remember, effectively orphaned at the age of ten, then forced to raise his brother and pushed into such despair that it seemed the only way out was to bring his mother back to life. What _ordinary_ child attempted human transmutation, sacrificed his own arm to attach his brother's soul to a suit of armor, endured automail surgery, and became a State Alchemist before he was even a teenager?

Naturally, he was a genius. He was more than a match for everything life had thrown his way; he'd proven this time and time again. But Roy wondered if it had been the right thing to push the boy to join the military. As much as he'd been able to help make this country a better place, in payment he'd given up the greater part of his childhood. _A__ boy __of __fifteen __ought__ to __be __chasing __after __girls __and__ messing __around __with__ a __ball __in __the __backyard __with __his __friends,_ Roy thought. _Instead__ he's __hunting __down__ criminals __in __the __red __light __district __and __fighting __for__ his __life._

But then...Roy's childhood hadn't exactly been ordinary either. He was an orphan as well; he could barely remember his real parents at all. He'd been taken in by his aunt and was raised in a bar, growing up around drunk men and ten adopted sisters who did their part by either cooking the food or attracting customers with their charms. He'd learned alchemy from a dying debtor of a teacher, who had only taught him the basics he could have gleaned from books before dying in Roy's arms. He'd joined the military, become a State Alchemist because of what a sick, paranoid man had done to his daughter, slaughtered thousands in Ishbal, and now plodded upward through the ranks of the military. And all before the age of thirty.

Roy rubbed his tired eyes and chuckled to himself before returning to his paperwork. Maybe they were more alike than they cared to admit.


	36. Until We Meet Again

**Author's Note: There isn't much I like about the ending of the first series, but this scene is one of them. We get a lot more interaction and indications of these characters' relationship in Brotherhood, so this was one of the few scenes where I really felt like the two reached an understanding. It also contains one of the deepest, most inspirational speeches I think Ed has ever made. Rather than just recreating this scene, I thought I would change things a bit, keeping the basic gist of the scene but making them admit things I'm not sure they ever would in the anime.**

**Timeline: Episode 48**

**Theme 36: Until we meet again**

A tense silence settled over the back seat of the car after they had both explained their plans. Edward could tell they were both thinking the same thing: As soon as they parted ways, they would probably never see each other again. They were both heading off to fight their own battles, to face their own demons, and there was little chance they would prevail. He caught himself wishing that Mustang could be there with him in the end, to lend him his support as he had so many times before.

But Mustang was off to assassinate the Fuhrer. And if that wasn't an arrogant enough goal, Edward was planning on taking the fight to the mastermind behind this all, the leader of the Homunculi. Yeah. Getting out alive. Right.

Then, as Hawkeye turned another corner and brought them even closer to their separation, Mustang spoke again. "Are you sure?"

Edward looked up at him. "Are you?"

"It's...different. I don't have a brother to worry about. Will you be content to give up the Stone, after all this time, knowing you two might never get your real bodies back?"

Edward looked out the window and thought about that. He realized he'd accepted a long time ago that it was probably too much to hope for that they would both get their bodies back, but he'd been holding out a desperate conviction that at least Alphonse could get back to normal again. He deserved it more anyway.

Heaving a sigh, Edward felt old and weary. "You know what? I've been selfish for a long time. All my life, I guess. I've been trying to get our bodies back, not just for Al, but for _me._ Because _I_ don't want automail. But now I've realized...there's something bigger than me. The Homunculi won't be satisfied until the whole world is flattened, so they hafta be stopped. This isn't about me anymore; it's about Amestris. If I'm the only one who realizes what's going on, then I'm the one who has to stop it."

"And your brother?"

Edward winced and stared out the window, watching the streetlamps blur and sway. "He's my brother," he replied softly. "I love him. So...if I get a chance...I know what I have to do. I'm not going to use the Stone; that was just me being selfish again. To think that I could have everything I wanted..." He sighed. He still wanted everything. "No. I need to stop being selfish. I'll give him everything instead."

He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. He would have to defeat the Homunculi to reach Alphonse anyway, and he didn't know if there would be anything left to give. But it was worth it. He'd made his choice. Opening his eyes, he asked, "What about you? You do realize you'll never be able to become Fuhrer if you're an assassin, right?"

Mustang looked out the other window, his face shielded from view. But Edward could see the reflection of his pained expression. "You said you were selfish, but...you don't know the half of it, Ed. I wouldn't make a good Fuhrer at all. It's better this way."

Edward glanced at Hawkeye's face in the mirror; she bit her lip, but said nothing. "What do you mean?"

"You know why I wanted to become Fuhrer in the first place? To avoid following unreasonable orders. Not to make this country a better place. Not to stop such unreasonable actions from ever occurring. No, I just wanted to avoid getting my hands dirty again. That's not what this country needs. Amestris needs change, not avoidance. So that's what I plan to do. I will kill the Homunculus leading us all astray, and if that leads to my execution...so be it."

Edward and Mustang looked at each other for a moment, and Edward realized they had ceased to be superior and subordinate. Now they were equals. Equal burdens, equal responsibilities, equal resolve. He wondered what it would have been like to continue like this, to fight alongside each other, to embark on the new path life laid for them. But they were both heading to their deaths; there was no point in avoiding the truth. This was goodbye.

All too soon, Hawkeye pulled over to the side of the road, where a side street would lead to the abandoned building where Edward knew he would find the Homunculi's lair. She and Mustang would continue on to the northern part of Central City, to the Fuhrer's residence. The sun was setting, red bleeding out across the sky as if predicting the death that would soon come.

Slowly, Edward got out of the car and walked to the front of it, nodding a respectful farewell to Hawkeye, who nodded back. Mustang followed him, and for a moment they faced each other. This time there were no quips, no friendly banter, not even the trace of a smirk. Mustang wasn't wearing his uniform, Edward had left his red coat behind...so different, and yet, the same as ever. It was...encouraging. Bolstering. Maybe he could do this after all.

After a long look at him, Mustang raised his hand to salute. Halfway there, he hesitated, then lowered his hand again, holding it out for Edward to shake instead. Bridging the gap of propriety and station that had always kept them carefully apart. As if acknowledging that they were both human beings. "Until we meet again."

A painful lump in Edward's throat made it hard to swallow. With colossal effort, he smiled and knocked Mustang's hand away. "Yeah. See you later."

Then he turned, and ran with all his might. Away from Mustang, away from that easy familiarity that had brought them through so much. His eyes burned, and he ran faster. The sound of a car motor faded into the distance.


	37. Silver Watch

**Author's Note: First of all, I'd like to note that, for anyone who actually cares, I've revised my Author's Note in the first chapter, the part where I explain why there will be no RoyEd in this fic. I changed it, less because I was afraid of stepping on anybody's toes, but more because I realized (thanks to several people who pointed this out to me, especially YB Fan) that I wasn't expressing myself clearly. This is closer to what I actually meant to say about that issue.  
**

**Well, I felt like having a fun action chapter after the last few chapters that were mostly recaps of stuff we already know all about. I think where this came from was that I was thinking about various panels of the manga where Ed or Mustang are holding up a silver watch. The main one that came to mind was a scene where Ed throws down his watch on a table and it's covered with splotches of blood. That, in a roundabout way, led to this idea. Maybe it's cliché, but it was fun.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 37: Silver watch**

When Edward slouched into the office to report, he found Mustang pacing back and forth in front of his desk, looking frazzled and gesturing to thin air. "_Seven years ago, our great nation..._"

"Okay, what the heck is he on _this_ time?" Edward demanded, turning to the others in the office. He had brushed past them a moment ago, too intent on the prospect of the report he'd have to make to pay much attention to them. Now he realized they were bustling about as well, everyone looking stressed.

Havoc was the one who finally answered, fumbling with the three medals he'd won in Ishbal. "The Colonel's giving a speech in front of the entire military in-" he glanced at the clock "-twenty minutes."

"Speech? What for?"

Hawkeye looked up from holstering her gun more securely about her waist, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why aren't you in uniform, Edward? Don't you know what day this is?"

"Huh?" Everyone spared a moment to roll their eyes as Edward looked at the calendar and let the date sink in. "Oh. Right. Yeah." Great, Remembrance Day. He usually tried to avoid coming back around that time, because there was only so much _remembrance_ of the Ishbal War he could take. It was just easier to be gone during that whole week and avoid the tense feelings that always hung around the office, since three of its occupants were combat veterans. But this time, well...he hadn't really had a choice, had he?

Scowling, Edward stepped over the threshold into Mustang's office, ignoring Fury's murmur of, "I don't think you should..."

"Hey, I've come to give you my report, so the least you can do is notice me."

"Not now, Full Metal." Mustang didn't even look up, just kept pacing back and forth, apparently doing his utmost to keep from running his fingers through his carefully-combed hair. He looked weird without it falling all over the place. "_Many good men lost their lives; I for one saw many young, promising lives-_"

"Why does everyone have to snap at me?" Edward demanded, crossing his arms. "Doesn't anyone care at _all_ that me n' Al barely escaped with our lives? Aren't you at least going to gloat that I couldn't capture those terrorists or figure out who they were trying to assassinate? Doesn't _anybody_ care that they were gonna keep me as a hostage?"

"Full Metal, I don't have _time_-" He checked his pocket watch and cursed under his breath. "All right, I need to get down there before the crowds arrive."

He bustled around, barking out last-minute orders and completely ignoring Edward, then marched off. "Sheesh," Edward muttered once he had gone. "What's with him? I would've thought he'd love the attention; isn't he gonna have to get used to this kind of thing?"

"All eyes will be on him," Hawkeye said shortly, her hand flying once again to her pistol. "The people will remember this, and if he makes one mistake..."

Edward swallowed uncomfortably at the fierce look in her chestnut eyes. He decided to hurry up and fetch his uniform.

* * *

It was _so_ hard not to fidget. Edward had never been through Basic Training, and Mustang thankfully never bothered with the whole formality thing when it was just the two of them (or he realized that Edward would never comply). Every other soldier assembled in the courtyard before Central Military Headquarters stood ramrod-straight, eyes fixed blankly forward, barely even moving to breathe. It was like standing in the middle of a crowd of marble statues.

Mustang climbed up to the podium, put down his notes, and looked out across the sea of blue (and the knot of reporters off to the side who were poised to take down every word he said). His gaze swept briefly over the front row where the State Alchemists who weren't off on a mission stood in a place of honor. Most of them were veterans as well; on Edward's right stood the mountain of muscle that was Major Armstrong. Edward felt distinctly out of place, even though he was wearing his uniform like everyone else (a rare sight indeed). A fleeting thought crossed his mind that he was very glad he was in the front row; at least he didn't have to crane his neck to see what was happening.

The solemn silence held for a few more moments, and Edward looked up at Mustang, realizing that he would look much the same if he ever achieved his goal of becoming Fuhrer. He would have a neat row of stars and a thick band of gold on his shoulders, of course, but other than that, Mustang already looked the part of a young, charismatic leader. He took a deep breath, and suddenly the deep voice Edward was so familiar with rang out across the courtyard. "Seven years ago, our great nation found itself in the grip of war. It was not the first time we took up arms to defend our country..."

Edward tuned him out. He really didn't like thinking about the Ishbal War if he could help it; after all, that was where Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell had died, and many men from Risenpool had lost their lives or been maimed forever. What Mustang was saying was probably important; knowing Mustang, he would keep a semblance of the official stance on the war, while subtly weaving in a thread of discontent and dissatisfaction with how the war had been carried out – a thread he would later pull into a tight noose around Bradley's neck. Mustang was just like that.

Surreptitiously, Edward shifted his weight to his left leg, remembering how his other foot had ached last time he'd been forced to stand out here for hours on end. He took a risk and turned his head ever so slightly to the left, peeking out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone else looked bored. Surely, they couldn't _all_ be riveted by Mustang's speech. Or maybe they had completely tuned him out and were just staring blankly at him and letting their minds wander.

Then he noticed one soldier, five down and in the row behind him, who was also fidgeting ever so slightly. The man moved his arm as though trying to get something out of his pocket without anyone seeing; Edward turned his head a fraction farther, trying to make out the man's face. His mustache was so comically bushy it almost looked fake, but there was something about his eyes... Had they met before? Had they seen each other around Headquarters? Something niggled in the back of Edward's mind...

The man pulled the thing out of his pocket, and there was the tiniest, briefest flash of sun on metal. For an instant, Edward's mind froze in place as he recognized the shape of that item. Then he remembered.

Those eyes, pressed close against his own. The smell of cheap whiskey as a husky voice said, "Yep, it's him all right. He'll come willingly enough." A gun pressed warningly against his temple, the cold steel sending shivers down his spine as he wondered wildly what they were going to do with him, what they were after that would make them this desperate...

His breath caught in his chest as the gun lifted in the air, slowly enough that the soldiers who were staring at Mustang would never notice.

"Many good men lost their lives," Mustang was saying, not even looking in the right direction. "I for one-"

"_NO!_" Edward was already clapping his hands and throwing himself at the ground, but he realized as he transmuted a hand from the earth that wrapped around the disguised terrorist that he should have transmuted a wall instead. Should have encased Mustang in dirt, or made the podium grow taller, or _something._ Because a moment before fingers of packed dirt closed around the terrorist's entire body, a gunshot cracked through the air.

Even as the world exploded with soldiers trying to wrest the gun from the terrorist's grasp before he could shoot himself as well, Edward stood frozen to the spot. He whipped his head around as soon as he heard the gunshot, and saw Mustang fall. It seemed to take forever for him to tip backwards, mouth still open for the next line of his speech, and crash on his back on the ground behind the podium.

Then everything seemed to clump together in his head, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, and he was running, but then he was kneeling on the ground, and he was painfully aware of a pebble pressing against his right knee. Hawkeye was already at Mustang's other side, her face as white as a sheet and her gun forgotten. The men stood around them, looking in all directions for another attack. Even Falman, who as Edward understood had never been in real combat before, aimed his pistol at any likely hiding place, his hand not shaking a bit.

Everything zeroed in on Mustang, whose eyes and mouth were wide with surprise. He gave a strange, wheezing cough and didn't seem able to move. Hawkeye, who let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a groan, quickly moved to unbutton his jacket and the white shirt underneath. She peeked underneath, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Fearing what he would find, Edward leaned in and pulled the cloth away a little more. But to his surprise, he didn't find the blood he was expecting, nor the sight of Mustang's failing lungs as they collapsed. A silver watch lay on his chest, right over his heart, now dented in horribly with a bullet sitting in the center. Gingerly, Edward picked up the watch and saw a huge bruise rising on Mustang's skin, in the shape of the military insignia.

Mustang made another try at a winded, wheezing gasp and seemed to catch his breath again. With their help, he managed to sit up and carefully prod the bruise on his chest. Slowly, he looked between them both; Hawkeye looked as relieved as Edward felt. Somewhere off to the side, the struggle had died down and they were leading the culprit off for questioning. But all Edward cared about was that Mustang wasn't dead. He clutched the silver watch tightly in his hand.

"Well, Full Metal," Mustang said weakly, "I think I'll need to hear your report now."


	38. Nowhere But Here

**Author's Note: This chapter exists entirely because the last chapter was so well received and because of a couple requests for continuation. At first, I was utterly stumped not only by this prompt but by the prospect of continuing the previous chapter. But eventually, this all worked out, and now I just have to hope that it didn't end up too cheesy.**

**Timeline: Right after "Silver watch"**

**Theme 38: Nowhere but here**

****_For awesomenaruto, who is, in fact, awesome_

Roy gasped and wheezed, trying to make his lungs fill with air again. The spot on his chest where his pocket watch had saved his life throbbed with a dull pain, but he cherished that ache because it meant he was still breathing. He began to shudder as it struck home just how close he had come to _dying._ He looked to his right at Hawkeye, to his left at Edward, and drank in the sweet air.

"Well, Full Metal," he said shakily, trying to smirk and bring some semblance of normalcy to the situation. "I think I'll need to hear your report now."

It didn't work. He was still shaking like a cadet in his first battle, and when he spoke his teeth began to chatter. Hawkeye placed a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder and took a closer look at the glorious bruise on his chest, then buttoned his shirt back up, ducking her head so only he could see the immense relief on her face.

Edward was less tactful, of course. He leaned in close and squinted at Roy's face, as if he would be able to see _About To Die_ written in tiny letters across his forehead. "You sure you're okay? Where does it hurt? C'mon, don't be an idiot!"

"Nowhere but here," Roy assured him, pressing his hand gingerly against his heart. "I'm all right. I'm...I'm all right." The words bolstered him, warmed him from the inside out.

"Well, don't worry," Edward said with false bravado, standing up and brushing off his knees while Hawkeye helped Roy stand. "Those terrorist guys can't hurt you now."

* * *

After a visit to the doctor just in case, taking the rest of the week off, and plenty of sleep, life resumed its normal pace. The would-be assassin was thrown in prison, though he refused to reveal who he was working for or what their motives were. Working off Edward's report, Major Armstrong and a company of soldiers went to smoke out the hideout, but reported that it was abandoned and left in disarray. Apparently they had fled.

Then came the day. Roy had sent off the Elric brothers in the morning to investigate a brand-new lead that had just cropped up, a promising one this time. He was signing papers and just wondering whether Hawkeye would scowl or not if he took another coffee break when the phone rang. Finishing his signature with a flourish, Roy picked up the phone and prepared for a doting father gushing about his newly pregnant wife – Hughes usually called about this time.

"_A call from an outside line, sir._"

Outside line? Had Hughes already gone home? "Patch it through."

_Click._ "_Colonel Mustang?_" asked an unfamiliar voice.

Roy frowned. "Yes. Who is this?"

"_You met our leader Tuesday before last._"

Tuesday before last... Roy's stomach lurched with the realization. "You mean...you're the terrorists?" he asked dumbly.

"_Visionaries,_" the voice corrected him. "_I'm calling to tell you that we have something of yours. Just thought you might want to claim it._"

"What are you talking about?" Roy snapped.

"_The Full Metal Alchemist, of course._"

Bluffing. They had to be bluffing. Roy's heart pounded wildly against the bruise, but he somehow managed to keep his voice steady. "How do I know you really have him?"

"_Hey, pipsqueak!_"

And suddenly the receiver exploded with an almighty cry of, "_WHO'RE YOU CALLING A PIPSQUEAK SO TINY-_"

Edward's voice cut short and a slapping sound cracked through the phone line. "_Convinced?_" the terrorist asked while Edward's voice muttered darkly in the background.

He gripped the receiver so hard it creaked in protest. "All right, I believe you," he said through gritted teeth. "What do you want from me?"

"_We just want to have a little chat, Colonel Mustang. Come to the abandoned automobile factory – by yourself, unarmed, in one hour – and we'll exchange hostages. The pipsqueak will go free, and you'll be the military's hostage. Bring anyone with you, or come too late, and..._"

_Bang._ A raw scream exploded on the other end. Roy shot to his feet, shouting uselessly, "Edward!"

"_That was his left leg,_" the man said calmly, while Edward's pained breathing could clearly be heard in the background. "_Let's make sure my hand doesn't slip up to his pretty little head, shall we?_"

"Don't you dare lay another finger on him," Roy snarled, pressing the receiver hard against his ear as if that way he could get closer to the man he now loathed with every fiber of his being. "If you do-"

Dial tone.

Roy stared at the receiver for a moment, then threw it down with a curse and bent over his fists on the desk. How could he have let this happen? He should have been more concerned about this from the start – should have realized that if they would go so far as to try to assassinate him with all the military watching, they would try again. He should have known that if they had managed to kidnap Edward last time, they might be able to do so again.

_Edward._ Who had endured so much, and he had brushed it all aside. Who had been the first to notice something suspicious going on in the crowd, who had acted instantly, who had been at his side when he almost died. And this was how he repaid the little hero? _All my fault._

He let out a gasp and checked his pocket watch – the replacement he'd gotten after the bullet had ruined his old one. There was no time to lose. Without even stopping to grab his coat, he burst out of his office and hurried past his subordinates, who all looked up in surprise. Hawkeye called out to him, but he only barked over his shoulder, "As you were!"

The drive to the outskirts was the most nerve-wracking one Roy had ever experienced, and he had to stop himself from checking his watch every few minutes so he wouldn't start running into things. But at last he reached the old automobile factory and got out, rushing towards the entrance with his heart in his throat.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, several men with guns and masks surrounded him. "Take me to him," Roy gasped, looking from one to the other, not sure who was the leader. But they just tied his hands behind his back and nudged him further into the dark concrete building with their rifles.

Soon they came to a small room that must once have been the foreman's office. A man without a mask lounged back in a rickety old chair, pistol trained on...

"Edward!" Roy lunged forward, but the terrorists held him back. Roy stared at the boy, aghast. Dry, crusted blood on his face suggested they had beaten him pretty badly when they brought him here – understandable, considering how fiercely Edward must have fought back. His entire left thigh was soaked in blood, which pooled all around his legs, and his wrists were tightly chained together. The boy's face was pale from blood loss and tight with pain, but he was conscious. His eyes cracked open a little when he heard Roy's voice, but he only bit his lip and closed them again.

"Glad you could make it," the leader drawled lazily, pointing his pistol in Roy's direction instead of Edward's. "All right, we'll make the transfer as promised." He nodded to one of his henchmen, who unlocked the shackles around Edward's wrists, but no one did anything to assist him out of there, and Edward looked too weak to move.

Roy gritted his teeth. The situation was looking worse and worse with every passing moment. "What do you want from me?" he demanded. "Are you going to negotiate for your leader's release?"

But the man only tipped his head back and laughed. "He can rot for all I care. The whole plan was just to kill you in the first place, and if he couldn't do it, he didn't deserve to be our leader. But you took the bait, so now that you're here...I'll just finish the job."

"Why?"

The man smiled complacently. "We know what you're up to, Mustang, and we won't stand for the pacifist country you're hoping to create. After all, without war, what would happen to all the smugglers, the drug dealers, the money cleaners, the illegal immigrants, the contraband salesmen? We wouldn't want to drive these poor deserving souls into poverty, now would we? The world would be better off with you dead."

He raised the gun so it pointed directly at Roy's forehead. There would be no mistakes this time, no pocket watch providing protection. Roy licked his lips, suddenly dry, and stared death in the face. Funny how he shook and trembled when faced with life, yet now that death was here to claim him...he was so calm. "Edward," he said evenly. "Get out of here. Now."

There was a slight shuffling sound from Edward's direction, but it seemed he was unable to get to his feet. The terrorists moved aside, two gripping Roy's arms but standing apart to give their temporary leader a clear shot. Roy straightened his shoulders and kept his gaze fixed stonily on his killer's even though a lump was growing in his throat. After all this trouble to come and rescue Edward, they would probably kill him next just because he couldn't make it out of here on his own. _All my fault. All my __**fault.**_

The man smiled...and fired.

Everything seemed to explode at once. The men holding him in place fell to either side, crying out as a wall suddenly erupted from the ground directly in front of Roy's face. The thin barrier of concrete crumbled to dust when the bullet hit it, and Roy coughed, momentarily unable to see. Through the shouts of confusion, he could clearly hear more authoritative shouts and a few spurts of gunfire. He squatted down as best as he could with his hands behind his back, and by the time the dust cleared, it was all over.

Alphonse, who had been buying Edward a meal when he had been kidnapped, had run to Hawkeye, who had already figured out that something was up and decided to follow Roy. They explained this to him while cutting his bonds and leading the terrorists off to join their leader in prison, but he barely had attention to spare for their explanations. As soon as he was free, he rushed to Edward's side.

The boy was out cold; he had used the last ounce of his strength to protect Roy. To save his life, once again. He was so pale that Roy had to bend over his chest to listen for his heartbeat, but thankfully, the boy was still alive. Gathering the small, limp body into his arms, Roy allowed himself a moment to savor Edward's warm, living weight.

"He needs the hospital," he finally said.

Hawkeye put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him with concern. "Are you sure you're not hurt, sir?"

Roy smiled weakly. "Nowhere but here." He touched his heart. But this pain was a good pain.


	39. Please and Request

**Author's Note: This chapter was surprisingly hard to write. I mean, I came up with the idea quite soon after I looked at the prompt – it's something I've wondered for quite a while but never felt impelled to actually write about until now. But it was really hard to try to write these characters in this position. I'm afraid it came out a little melodramatic and possibly OOC, but...well, for some of that, it kind of _has_ to be, and hopefully the rest of it is warranted by such a desperate situation.**

**Timeline: Midseries (specifically manga/Brotherhood, unspecified point after Lust-Mustang battle)**

**Theme 39: Please/Request**

_This...can't be happening. It has to be a lie. A dream. **Something!**_

Edward gazed in horror at Mustang, who lay flat on his back, twitching. Screaming. Alchemic power raged around him, so powerful it created a wind that would have knocked Edward over if he wasn't bound tightly to a pillar. Even from across the room, he could see Mustang's skin bubbling, flaking off and reforming. His eyes had rolled up into his head and his fingers flailed as though instinctively trying to snap and protect himself.

But then it was all over. The wind died down, the alchemy dissipated, and Mustang lay still on the cold stone floor. Envy, who had stepped back out of range once the deed was done, inched closer and craned his neck curiously. Father stood impassively in the same position as always, at the foot of the stairs that led up to his throne-like chair. All eyes were on Mustang, who lay still and spread-eagled at Father's feet. Edward's heart was in his mouth; he knew that Mustang could very well be dead...and he wasn't sure whether he would rather that or the alternative.

Slowly, Mustang opened his eyes, blinked, and sat up. Edward immediately knew something was wrong, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Mustang didn't push himself up stiffly as though in pain or quickly like an experienced soldier who knew he was in enemy territory. He sat up languidly, in a smooth, fluid motion as though he was in no hurry at all, but with the sense of hidden strength like a tiger waiting to pounce. Edward stared as Mustang got to his feet. He had never seen him move like that before.

Their eyes connected across the room, and something in Edward shriveled up and withered away. There was something different about his eyes, about his face. They were...rounder. His lips were fuller, his nose slightly smaller, and there was something about the way he carried himself, the way he settled his weight when he stood looking around the room...

Then he caught sight of Father and gave him a low, elaborate bow. "Welcome, my son," Father said magnanimously. "How does your new vessel suit you?"

A familiar smirk crossed Mustang's lips, but it felt...wrong. It took Edward a moment to realize that, annoying as it was, the sight of that smirk always used to send warm familiarity trickling through him. Now everything was cold, like staring at a stranger. Mustang examined himself, turning his hands over and running his fingers across his muscled torso, which had been exposed during the course of the fight. He lingered for a moment over the burn scar on his side, but the smirk didn't waver.

"I like it very much," he purred with half-lidded eyes, like a cat licking his lips in satisfaction after a hearty meal of fish and milk. "This body feels so...virile."

Uncontrollable shudders ran down Edward's spine. This was _so_ not Mustang. Roy Mustang was an idiot and an arrogant jerk, but this was undeniably...

"Lust," Envy called, striding forward and hailing him cheerfully. "Long time no see! Though last time you were a lot prettier."

Mustang...Lust...arched an eyebrow superciliously. It was such a familiar expression. "And you are?"

"This is your brother Envy," Father said. "In due time, you will meet the others, but at present they are busy with other matters."

"And what about this one?" Lust asked, stalking towards Edward. He even _walked_ like her, the slight bounce in his step more threatening than anything else.

"He is one of my precious human sacrifices. Under no circumstances are you to kill him, but...he has been very tiresome of late." Father sighed like a parent who was disappointed with his child. "I think I may have to keep him here until the time comes."

"My, my," Lust said, leaning uncomfortably close. "_This_ little one is a human sacrifice? Appearances can be deceiving, I suppose."

Normally, Edward would be screaming his head off at such a comment, but with Lust so _close_...close enough that he could feel his breath...he thought he was going to choke. The face was the same, the voice was the same, but those eyes were not black. They were purple, and the pupils were mere slits.

"Oh, come now, don't cry," Lust said mockingly, running a finger down Edward's cheek, which he suddenly realized was wet. "Such a cute little sacrifice should be _happy_ to serve our illustrious father." He kept stroking Edward's cheek, a cruel twist to his smirk, and gradually Edward realized the finger was growing sharper and sharper, until its razor-sharp tip tickled gently across his skin, just lightly enough so as not to draw blood.

He wanted to get away from here, run and run and never turn back, run to Alphonse and bury his face in his metal shoulder and never look up at the world again. He didn't want to make friendships when all they led to was more pain for everyone. But he couldn't move, he couldn't even struggle, because they had chained him to this pillar and forced him to watch his commanding officer turned into a monster. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see such a familiar face twisted with such cruelty.

Suddenly there was a deafening crash, and Alphonse was there, and so were Hawkeye and the others, and Envy was transforming and Lust turned away, his finger nicking Edward's cheek with a slice of pain that seemed to cut all the way through him... Edward stood, dazed and uncomprehending, when the chains fell to the ground on either side and Alphonse cried, "Brother, come on!"

He shook his head as though coming out of a deep sleep, and his eyes locked on Lust, who was shooting his fingers at his subordinates, who looked confused but seemed to have gotten the idea. Even as he watched, Hawkeye stepped out from behind her shelter and pointed her shaking pistol at him. "Colonel...sir..." She looked at him, silently pleading.

But Edward was already running, knowing what Lust would do. Even as he collided with Hawkeye and pushed her to the ground, one of Lust's impossibly long fingers pierced Hawkeye's shoulder, making her cry out. It seemed to be more from surprise than pain, but as she pushed herself back up again, clutching her bloody shoulder, her face was wrent with the pain of betrayal. She looked up at the monster wearing her officer's skin...

If he hadn't been glaring at Lust, poised with his sword-arm at the ready to defend Hawkeye, he would have missed it. But as his eyes locked with Hawkeye's, Lust hesitated. His self-confident smirk slid off his face for a moment, and something akin to horror filled his eyes for a moment before, like an iron visor, his former expression snapped into place.

But as they made their final escape, Edward and Alphonse blocking as many attacks as they could since they were "confirmed human sacrifices," whatever that meant, Edward turned back to look the way they came.

"What is it, Brother?"

Edward looked up at Alphonse with firm resolve. "He's still in there. Mustang. He's in there somewhere...and I'm going to pull him back."

* * *

Finally, Edward managed to corner Lust on his own. He had sneaked off on his own to confront Lust, counting on Alphonse figuring out where he'd gone – late enough so he could have some time alone, but soon enough that he wouldn't get himself killed. After long hours of painful, pensive thought and memories of Alphonse's version of how Mustang had killed Lust before, Edward thought he knew how to bring Mustang back. His soul was still there, somewhere, and Edward knew how strong his resolve was. Mustang wouldn't give up this easily. He just needed a little extra help.

"You are such a fool, Edward Elric," Lust said with a low chuckle, slashing to pieces the wall of concrete Edward had just transmuted in front of himself. "You should not have come here alone."

Edward ducked to the side, but he wasn't fast enough. Lust's forefinger pierced his left shoulder, throwing him to the ground. He bit his lip and looked up as Lust sauntered towards him triumphantly, slowly twisting the finger. Edward clutched his arm and screamed before he could stop himself.

Suddenly, the razor-sharp finger was gone. Edward dared to look up...and immediately forgot his pain. Lust was trembling, clutching his head and slowly crouching down on his knees. Then he gasped and lurched forward as though some invisible tension had suddenly released him. He looked up at Edward with wide eyes. "No...what have I..." His eyes flew to Edward's bloody shoulder. "Ed...I-I'm sorry..."

Edward stared back, hardly daring to hope. "Mustang...?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me." Suddenly he shuffled forward, placing an entreating hand on Edward's knee. "Look, I'm not sure how much time I have – Lust is fighting with everything it has to return – but please...promise me...y-you have to..."

He wavered, trembling, and Edward shook him slightly, willing him to fight off the influence of Lust. Mustang's head snapped up and he clutched the front of Edward's shirt. "Please!" he gasped. "Kill me! You have to kill me now, before it's too late!"

"Wha...I can't do that!"

"Please..." Mustang clutched his head again, then got to his feet and staggered several paces before crashing to the ground again and growing far too still.

Edward realized what had happened just in time to transmute another wall before Lust's fingers lashed out again. Though the throbbing of his shoulder came back to his attention with full force, Edward could only think of Mustang's request as he ran to the other side of the chamber, zigzagging to escape Lust's attacks. Even if he killed Mustang, all that would happen would be that Mustang died and the Philosopher's Stone at the core of Lust would remain, ready for Father to use again.

No. There was nothing else for it. This was the only way, even if it was a long shot and he would probably die trying.

Edward spun on his heels to face Lust. "Mustang!" he yelled.

Lust laughed mockingly. "How many times do I need to remind you? I am Lust. I'm not your friend anymore. I don't care about you, or any of his silly little subordinates."

"You're wrong, Mustang!" Edward yelled, using the name even though it was like confirming that Lust _was_ Mustang. "I know you care about them. I know you love them. You love Hawkeye, don't you?"

"Foolish child, haven't you been listening? I don't _love_ anyone. There is only one thing I can ever feel: lust." He snickered to himself, running his tongue over his lips.

If he'd had attention to spare, Edward would have felt revolted. As it was, he concentrated on his goal instead as Lust slowly approached like a prowling predator. "Hawkeye. Remember Hawkeye! Remember everything she's done for you, remember how loyal she is. I bet she loves you too!" He was just taking a leap in the dark, based on a few comments the men had made; it was hard to imagine her in love with _anybody._ But he seemed to have hit a nerve, because Lust stopped short. The smirk was finally gone.

"The others love you too," Edward persisted. "Havoc and Breda and Falman and Fury. They respect you, they look up to you." The words came thick and fast, but he tried not to sound too desperate as Lust slowly started towards him again. "They don't just follow you because you have good ideas about how to run the country. They care about _you,_ Mustang. You should've seen how upset they all were when they realized what happened to you. They're all out there right now, waiting for you."

"They're not. Not me," Lust said with effort. Edward could see the sweat dripping down his face, and hope kindled in his heart.

"Hughes!" he cried with a burst of inspiration. "Hughes loved you! You were best friends, remember? He was always there to help you, or just to talk when you needed someone. He _died_ trying to help you!"

"No..." Lust grunted weakly, crashing to his knees and clutching his head in both hands. "Stop... Sh-Shut up..."

"Come on, Mustang, remember who you are! Remember the people you love-"

Lust looked up with a snarl, his eyes flashing with hatred. Fingers shot towards him, and Edward barely managed to duck out of the way, one finger grazing his side. And before Lust could attack with the other hand, Edward threw everything he had into a last-ditch effort. He knew it probably wouldn't work and he would probably die, but he had no choice but to try it.

He lunged at Lust, but instead of attacking him, he threw his arms around him and held him tightly. "And I love you too!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for the killing blow. "I don't know if you care at all, but I do. I just...want you back, Mustang! Please..."

Lust had gone rigid, and as Edward dared to look up, the Homunculus started trembling. His eyes were wide as saucers, and he opened his mouth to scream. In the midst of shrieks like an infernal beast of the underworld, something like black smoke poured out of his mouth. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he started jerking violently. Terrified, Edward clung on for dear life, cheek pressed firmly against the edge of the burn scar.

After several horrible minutes, the body Edward clung to slumped heavily to the floor. Edward scrambled to make sure his head didn't slam onto the concrete floor, then carefully drew away. The body looked the same as ever, and Edward forced himself not to look too hard at the face to see if it looked the same or not. He wanted to check for a pulse, but eyed the fingers warily. Lust could trick him into concern or complacency and then finish him off.

Edward flinched when the body began to stir, and opened its eyes. But when they met each other's gaze, Edward's breath caught in his throat. The purple irises had gone back to an ordinary black, and there was something in them...

"Thank you," he breathed, wearily extending a hand.

Hardly daring to believe his eyes, Edward leaned in a little closer. "Mustang?"

A warm, strong hand closed around his left hand. A tiny smile warmed his eyes before they slid closed in exhaustion. "Don't worry. I love you too, Full Metal."


	40. Egoism and Selfishness

**Author's Note: This is just a short continuation of the previous chapter, because I thought it was a good idea to have a light-hearted conclusion to show that everything will be okay in the end. As ever, I am inspired by Toru Okawa's deliciously hot voice – particularly his laugh.**

**Timeline: Shortly after "Please/Request"**

**Theme 40: Egoism/Selfishness**

****_for awesomenaruto, who seems to like sequel chapters :D_

Alphonse only left his brother's side when Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye showed up, Mustang holding a large, flamboyant bouquet of get-well-soon flowers. He had felt slightly awkward around Mustang ever since his brief time as a Homunculus, but Alphonse tried not to let it show. He was overjoyed to have their friend back in one piece, but hadn't quite figured out yet how to talk about him around his brother.

After all, when he and the military people had burst in, they had found Mustang lying unconscious with his head in Edward's lap, their hands clasped and Edward seemingly close to tears. Edward had been too relieved and focused on his own wounds to be embarrassed at the time, but Alphonse knew how touchy he was.

This was the first time the two had seen each other since Edward had been put in the hospital, so Alphonse decided to quietly step out into the hallway and join Hawkeye, who took Mustang's coat and sat on a bench a short distance away. Mustang stepped into the room, leaving the door open.

Alphonse had barely greeted Hawkeye and sat down beside her when he distinctly heard his brother ask loudly, "Why the _hell_ are you giving me _flowers?_"

"Only the best for my _beloved._" A smirk was distinct in Mustang's voice.

_Crash._ A vase shattered against the wall, flowers spilling out all over the place and getting the floor wet. "Get outta my room, you pedophile!" Alphonse dropped his visor into one hand.

"Oh, how can you _say_ that?" Mustang said, pretending to be hurt. "I'm only trying to show appreciation for my conquering hero."

"Wow, Mustang's actually _complimenting_ me. Now I've seen everything."

"Don't be ridiculous. I was saved by the power of _loooove._"

Alphonse looked incredulously at Hawkeye, who pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "He's been like this ever since Edward saved him," she groaned.

Glancing at the door, Alphonse asked in a low voice, "He didn't get...messed up or anything, did he?" The last thing they needed was to think the old Mustang was back, only to discover that instead of a vindictive monster, they had turned him into Armstrong.

But when Hawkeye looked back up at him, she was smiling. "No, no, don't worry. He'll sober up a bit when I get him back behind his desk. He's just...overjoyed." A soft smile lit her face. "He missed us while he was gone."

"Look," Edward was saying loudly, "if I'd been turned into a Homunculus, I wouldn't-"

"If you were a Homunculus, Full Metal, you wouldn't be a 'dwarf in a flask.' You'd just be a dwarf."

As Edward exploded (throwing things again, by the sound of it), Mustang just laughed. Alphonse realized that, even though he had heard the colonel chuckle from time to time, he had never heard this rich, utterly _cheerful_ laughter. Now he knew why Hawkeye was smiling so tenderly. It was as though, along with the Philosopher's Stone, Edward's actions had expelled all the tension and stress that Mustang had built up over the years. Now he was a young man again.

Chuckling to let Hawkeye know that he was smiling inside, Alphonse realized that this was the colonel's way of saying thank you. It was probably the only one that Edward would accept, too. Funny, how often Edward complained of Mustang's egoism and selfishness, yet he couldn't stand to hear Mustang thanking him for being as selfless as he'd ever been.


	41. Irrational

**Author's Note: Ever since I wrote the first part of this story, I've known that eventually I'd have to write some kind of further chapter to continue it. This whole scenario has been extremely depressing to me from the beginning, but I feel like this extreme situation shows another side of the relationship that we don't really get to see otherwise.**

**Timeline: Sometime after "Magic"**

**Theme 41: Irrational**

When the door to his cell clanged open, Roy Mustang looked up in surprise. He didn't get many visitors other than Hawkeye (who dutifully came to see him every day as though they were actually married and she was only allowed to see her rotten dump of a husband for half an hour because he was a dangerous criminal), and she had just been here an hour ago. Slowly, he straightened and looked his visitor warily in the eye.

"You're the biggest idiot I know."

Satisfaction warred with guilt in Roy's heart. The boy had turned out _perfectly,_ but... "It's...good to see you on your feet again." The last time they had had a conversation – such as it was – Edward had been little more than a mass of fur and twisted muscles and organs. Now the boy stood on his own feet again – well, one foot of his own and one automail; it seemed Miss Rockbell had wasted no time in giving him limbs again.

Edward swore and turned away. A few minutes passed before he seemed to master himself enough to ask, "Why?"

Looking at the familiar braid hanging down the boy's back, half-obscuring the symbol on the back of the red coat, Roy sighed. He should have known that Edward wouldn't understand, _couldn't_ understand, what it had been like. "Because there was no other way."

At this, Edward whirled around again. "There's _always_ another way. There had to have been a better way than...than your...irrational..."

"Like what?" Roy demanded. "Attempting a transmutation without the Stone? Watching you break into a thousand bloody pieces? I might as well have put you out of your misery the moment I saw you. Or do you mean to tell me you're not grateful to be back with your brother again?"

It was a low blow, and he knew it. Edward took a step back, his angry disdain crumbling away and leaving nothing but hurt in its wake. "L-Look, it's not...I _am_ glad that... But that's not the point!" he quickly interrupted himself, the anger returning. "Don't you realize what you've _done?_"

"I'm quite aware of what I've done," Roy said impatiently, brandishing his shackled hands. They didn't trust him an inch in this place, not after... "It's why I turned myself in. Do you think I'm _happy_ that I killed them? It had to be done, but now I'm paying for it. Shouldn't that be enough for-"

"You shut your mouth!" Edward snarled, grabbing him by the collar and pushing him hard against the concrete wall. Roy didn't struggle, knowing he deserved this just as much as his chains. "I'm not gonna let you justify yourself like this! So that makes you feel all better now, does it? Like somehow if you sit around in some old prison that'll be Equivalent Trade for all those people you _murdered!_"

The words were like slaps in the face, and Roy said nothing because there was no possible response. He didn't want to make excuses; he knew there _was_ no excusing what he'd done, but all the same... "I don't regret it, because now you're safe."

Edward swore again and let him go, stalking to the other end of the cell and pounding his fist against the wall. For a long moment, silence descended over the cell, and Edward rested his head against his fist. "You were supposed to make it to the top," he finally muttered. "You were supposed to lead this country to a bright future. Now what are we supposed to do?"

Roy sighed and wearily rested his head against the wall behind him. "This only goes to prove how unfit I've always been for the job. A man who would resort to murder in order to save someone he cared about would only lead this country to destruction. And so, here I am – an asset to Amestris purely by my absence."

Slowly, Edward turned to look at him. He glared for a long moment, but Roy couldn't quite muster up the energy to glare back. Finally, Edward spoke. The intense emotion that had carried him away before was now gone, but now...he sounded so much older. "Fine then. Rot in this cell for all I care. But I won't be lazy like you. I'm going to find you a replacement, and I'll see that _he_ makes this country a better place and doesn't make any of _your_ stupid mistakes."

He stepped out of the cell and slammed the door behind him, stomping away with a determined stride. Roy watched him go, a smirk slowly finding its way across his face. "I think I've already found that replacement..."


	42. We Are Equals on This Ground

**Author's Note: I've read several fics that place Ed in the war zone, usually during what seems an inevitable Drachma War. I thought it was high time I explored some of that scenario myself. I just hope this isn't too pathetic; I was half asleep while writing most of this ^^' There may be more Drachma War chapters, depending on future themes.**

**Timeline: AU Midseries (when Ed is sixteen)**

**Theme 42: We are equals on this ground**

The blade at the end of his right arm sliced through the man's throat, severing it instantly. Blood spurted between his fingers, staining the bright steel a dull red. The man's body fell to the ground with a heavy thump, his head settling to one side, eyes gaping. Red puddles seeped across the large drift of snow, tainting its pristine whiteness.

And he stared into those eyes, at that grotesquely gaping mouth, which only seemed to gape wider and wider as he stared, as though threatening to swallow him whole...

Edward slowly raised his head from his hands and stared at the dancing flames in front of him. He was no longer trudging through the blizzard, nor fighting for his life, nor bringing death to every enemy soldier he saw. He had to keep reminding himself of this, reminding himself that he was sitting in the mouth of his tent, trying to thaw out a little in front of his small campfire. The wind had died down, but the snow was still thick on the ground.

He looked down at his hands, free of their gloves so as to soak up as much warmth as they could. The blood was gone, washed away in the snow as soon as possible so as not to cake the joints of his automail. But when he looked at his hands out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could still see blood trickling down his palms. He closed his eyes. So tired...

He clapped and slammed his hands on the ground, sending deadly spikes shooting through the air to impale the soldier creeping up on Jennings, piercing through a dozen vital spots...

Edward shuffled a little closer to the fire, covering his ears with his hands in a futile attempt at shutting the memories out. But it was no use. They were here under his skin, and he knew they would never go away. He had failed, and he would be living with the consequences of his actions for the rest of his life.

When he heard footsteps crunching through the snow towards him, he had to suppress a strong urge to curl up on himself and moan to be let alone. But he knew better. He wasn't a kid anymore. He couldn't just snap at everyone and slam doors until the problem disappeared. No, he was Colonel Elric, and he was leading the troops, and he had to be strong for them, if for no one else. So he straightened a little, blew on his hands to try to warm them up, and looked up to see who was approaching.

It was Mustang, and Edward started to heave himself to his feet to salute, but Mustang waved the formalities aside and sat down on the cold ground with a small grunt of effort. They sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire in front of them. Edward looked at his superior, and thought about how much older he looked since they had set out. He could see the grey hair starting at Mustang's temples, and the creases at the corners of his eyes that would turn into wrinkles soon. He looked like hell warmed over – not that Edward thought he was bound to look any better.

"Well," Mustang began slowly, "I guess we...are equals on this ground."

Edward let out a bone-deep sigh and hugged his knees to his chest, not caring that it was a very childish gesture. In front of the men, he had to hold himself tall and proud or they would never take him seriously, but with this man at least...he knew he couldn't hide. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Now I'm a murderer too."

Mustang looked over at him, and he had to meet the man's eyes. They were like a black, endless abyss. "You did what you had to do – to protect yourself and your men. We're at war. It's not murder."

Everything he said only seemed to shrivel Edward even further. He was a tiny speck in this white expanse, and he wondered what the point was. Why did they have to declare war on Drachma in the first place? Why did they have to cross the mountains and obliterate scouting parties along the way? Why couldn't they just go about their business and not have to see anyone killed? "They're still people," he whispered. "They had life just like me...and I killed them."

"Edward," Mustang said, reaching out as if to put a hand on Edward's shoulder but seeming to think better of it, "If you hadn't acted as you did, it would only mean that more people would die as a result. Those soldiers knew when they entered their military that they would probably die in this war, as did ours. This is what war is like, I'm afraid. All you can do is give it your best effort, and live to see the end of this war."

Edward hunched his shoulders further. "But I don't deserve to live more than _they_ did. Some people say it's just 'survival of the fittest,' but that's not true. They're people too, so they have as much value as the rest..." He sighed, resting his head on his crossed arms. "I shouldn't have even come. I'm not doing anything here except bring more fighting to the war, rather than preventing it from progressing."

"'Shouldn't have come'?" Mustang asked, sounding astonished. Edward looked up, wondering what the big deal was. "Edward, don't you know what you've _done_ today? Yes, you had to kill enemy soldiers today, but your squad suffered _no casualties._ Do you realize how rare that is?"

Yes, he realized. After all, the soldiers who had looked down their noses at him before now practically idolized him, and the ones who had seemed to resent being ordered around by a sixteen-year-old now voiced no complaints. They had seen how quickly he responded to danger and protected his men at any cost.

"How did you do it?" Edward asked after a long pause. "How did you...get through?"

"I had a goal driving me forward," Mustang said softly, gazing out at the other little campfires dotted around the camp where lower-ranking soldiers shared meals and stories with one another. "I just wanted to protect the people under my authority. I won't lie; it's been a hard road even after the Ishbal War was over. But you're going to make it through, Edward. You're going to make it through."

Edward looked up into the eyes of the man he had entrusted so much to, and he believed. Even if it was just wishful thinking and he would forever be haunted by what he'd been forced to do...he wanted to believe that Mustang knew what he was talking about. That he would be able to rely on him...because he knew there was no one else.


	43. Proof of a Theory

**Author's Note: This arc seems to have been the most popular one so far, so I decided to fill in a few more gaps. I'll also admit to getting inspiration for creative ways of hurting people from my job on my college campus ^^'**

**Timeline: Before and after "Nowhere but here"**

**Theme 43: Proof of a theory**

Edward left Alphonse waiting in line to buy him a sandwich, and stepped into the men's room before their train left. He hadn't voiced his concerns to Alphonse – no need to get him worked up over nothing – so his little brother didn't understand why he wasn't his usual optimistic self. And by all rights, he _should_ be excited about this new lead, about the rumors of a red stone that had come to their attention just in time to catch the last train of the day out west...

_Well, _he thought as he contemplatively washed his hands at the sink, having to step around the janitor's cart to reach the paper towels, _if I'm just being paranoid, I have every reason to be._ A hostage situation and an attempted assassination on the colonel, all in the space of a couple weeks... It was enough to keep anyone on their toes. He would just have to be extra careful once they reached Pendleton-

He registered the mop swinging towards him in the mirror only a moment before the steel pole slammed into the back of his head. Edward cursed, lurching forward and catching himself on the edge of the sink, using his momentum to kick the 'janitor' squarely in the jaw. Well, there was proof of a theory he'd been formulating – that the terrorist group would try to catch him again, that this was all a set-up. They'd just been quicker than he'd expected.

Edward spun on his heel and started to dash for the door, but before he could take a single step every stall door swung open and five burly men rushed towards him. The nearest one managed to grab his arm, and Edward was about to throw the man over his shoulder when the janitor, who had stumbled back from the force of his kick, squirted a spray bottle of cleaning fluid right in his face.

Coughing, eyes burning, Edward blindly tried to break free, but another meaty hand grabbed his other arm. He kicked with all his might behind him, hearing a satisfying howl of pain. He must have hit somewhere sensitive, because after the man's grip on his arm loosened almost enough for him to pull away, a vicious knee collided with the small of his back, throwing him with a loud smack onto the tiled floor. Eyes streaming and head spinning, Edward tried to bring his hands together to clap, but then a booted foot swung towards him and searing pain exploded in his left eye.

For a few moments, nothing existed but the pain. A few more blows rained down on him, then as he gasped and bled onto the tiled floor, he felt cold chains wrapped tightly around his wrists. They didn't seem to realize that he could still create a circle with them if he wanted to, but he knew better than to try anything. Not with them all looming over him, just waiting for an excuse to stamp the life out of him for good.

The janitor kicked him again for good measure, and the last thing he saw before he finally succumbed to the pain was a black trash bag closing over him.

* * *

Once it was all over, after all the pain and fear and confusion, Edward woke up in a hospital bed with a swollen lip, a black eye so swollen he could barely open it, and thick bandages wrapped tightly around his left thigh, right above his automail. He blinked sluggishly, thoughtfully examining the IV taped to the back of his hand. _At least my automail's fine, or Winry would kill me._

"You awake, kid?" said a soft voice.

Edward looked over and saw Mustang sitting in the chair next to his bed, his uniform crumpled and dusty. Had he not even changed out of his clothes since the holdup? "Where's Al?" he asked instead.

"He just stepped out for a minute; I'll go get him." Mustang got to his feet, but made no move for the door. He just looked down at him with an unreadable expression.

Edward scowled. "What?" Was this some kind of subtle jab at his height or something?

To his bewilderment, Mustang smiled and shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Edward Elric. You stick your foot into every kind of trouble imaginable, but at the end of the day, you still have to play the hero and save my life." His smile faded somewhat into seriousness. "Thank you."

Mouth open to make some kind of retort, Edward caught himself in surprise. He gaped up stupidly at his commanding officer for a moment, then hastily returned, "Yeah, well, you still owe me! That's _twice_ I've saved your life now!"

With the slightly smug, almost wistful smile still in place, Mustang chuckled. "Rest up, short stuff. I'll have a stack of leads as high as your head by the time you get out of here."

He grumbled, but didn't raise his voice like he normally would have. As Mustang left to get Alphonse, Edward watched him go with a strange feeling in his chest. Maybe it was just the pain meds, but he didn't mind Mustang's teasing half so much anymore.


	44. Stronger, Stronger

**Author's Note: Well, this scenario was just too interesting to _not_ write about. Even though nothing like this happens in the canon, I find this a really fascinating way to examine the relationship, to see how it shifts when you twist the characters into such different positions. By the way, this goes by the ending of the manga/Brotherhood.**

**Timeline: After "Magic"**

**Theme 44: Stronger, stronger**

****_for Obsidian Butterfly_

The day Edward got Alphonse's body back was the day his career in the military really took off. After the laughter, after the tears of joy and the prolonged minutes when Alphonse sat cradled against his chest, almost afraid to let go, Edward sat back and knew the time had come. Winry sat on the other side of the bed, having rushed all the way there from Risenpool as soon as he had called to tell her the good news. Alphonse sat propped up against the pillows, strung up with IVs and various tubes, fingers loosely curled around Edward's newly-restored hand on the sheet.

"What're you gonna do now?" Winry asked him, straightening up hopefully. "Are you gonna come home?"

"I can't," he said softly. He looked at Alphonse, who looked back with the same steadfast understanding as always. In that moment, Edward loved his little brother more than ever. He squared his shoulders and announced to Winry, "I'm going to become the Fuhrer."

Winry burst out laughing, and kept going for several moments before she seemed to realize he was dead serious. Her smile instantly disappearing, she said, "You can't be serious! _You,_ the Fuhrer? I thought that was Mustang's-"

Edward interrupted her by standing abruptly and stalking to the window, staring unseeing at the street below and crossing his arms across his chest. "Roy Mustang is dead," he said shortly, trying to keep the teeming emotions in check as he had for so long already. "At least, the Roy Mustang I knew, the one with all those ambitions – he's gone. But he left his work unfinished. It's not enough that the Homunculi running this country are gone now. There are still idiots running around who weren't killed in the Promised Day, and more greedy idiots are going to try to grab those empty seats. At this rate, General Grumman will probably become Fuhrer."

"I thought you liked Grumman," Alphonse interjected.

Edward couldn't keep back a smile. He remembered that secret meeting where he'd first been introduced to the old man, where Grumman had dressed up like an old woman and ranted about the inflated price of cabbages until all potential eavesdroppers had left in boredom. "I do. And I think he'll make a pretty good leader, get this country back on track...but he's not getting any younger, if you know what I mean. Someone's got to be ready to take his place in case he dies or goes senile or something."

"But why you?" There was a note of desperation in Winry's voice.

Edward turned back to face them. "Because I'm the only one who can." He didn't think Winry would understand, at least not yet, but even though they had never actually talked about it before, he saw that Alphonse understood. "Look...there aren't many people in the military who actually have the good of the country in mind anymore. Most officials are too busy thinking about money, or their stupid careers and how much power they've got. And Hawkeye said something to me once. That to bring real peace to this country, it needs to be led by someone who doesn't know war. Who can give the power back to the people instead of this military dictatorship, because if you've got such a strong military, you're bound to start a war somewhere."

He sighed, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. Unbidden, an image of Mustang came to mind – once so cocky, now sitting hunched on a thin cot in Central Prison, not even remorseful that he had thrown away every last ambition. Willing to give up and take the easy way out, rather than mercilessly hunting down the answer and punching it in the face. "I'm not going to be Roy Mustang," Edward said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he glared in determination at the future. "I'm going to stay in the military, and rise to the top. I'm going to be stronger, stronger than _he_ ever was, and I'm going to _show_ him how to change a country. I'm not going to rest until I can take it all and shove it in his _face._"

Alphonse snorted, breaking him out of his passionate speech, and Winry dropped her head into her hands with a groan. "God help us all."

* * *

The last thing Roy expected on the eve of the inauguration was a visit from the Fuhrer-to-be himself. He looked up from the front-page story in the paper at the sound of the keys clinking and the heavy metal door opening to find the warden holding the door open for Edward Elric, who stepped in and stood awkwardly as the door squeaked shut again.

The boy had changed so drastically since the last time they had spoken. Now he stood tall, taller than Roy would be if he stood up. His golden hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the full beard completed the resemblance to Hohenheim. His trademark red coat was long gone, replaced now with the military uniform he used to despise so much. But at the same time, he carried himself as he always had – confident and stubborn, hands in pockets and lips downturned into a scowl of determination. Even though Edward was married with children and about to take the highest position in the country, he was still the same as he had always been. He still looked just as disapproving of his former commander.

"What are you doing here?" Roy asked in genuine surprise.

"Got a bit of unfinished business to clear up," Edward said brusquely, casting his gaze around the cell as though there was something interesting to look at. An awkward silence fell as Edward refused to look his way. It was understandable; they hadn't seen each other in years.

"Read about you in the papers a lot," Roy said, folding his up and tossing it onto his pillow. "Fuhrer already, at your age? I'm impressed."

Edward straightened a little and turned back to face him, but when their eyes met he scowled again, as though trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be angry. "Yeah, well..." He shrugged. "I had an early start, and the Promised Day got rid of quite a few rungs in the ladder."

Roy nodded, knowing he was only making excuses for what an incredible man he was. So skilled and inspiring, such a good leader. The warden had lent him a radio so he could listen to some of Edward's campaign speeches, and he had been pleasantly surprised at how eloquent Edward could be. He made things sound amazingly simple to the common man. Black and white, good and evil, no room for hesitation or compromise. It was the way Edward lived.

Then Roy spoke the unspeakable, the one forbidden sentence that had hung over his head ever since he had read in the papers that Edward was aiming to become Fuhrer. "You've done what I couldn't."

"And whose fault is that?" The words fell with an ugly splat onto the concrete floor and made Roy want to recoil. But he forced himself to remain still, because they were true.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, intending to reply in some way, but Edward abruptly turned and paced to the tiny barred window, looking out at the uninteresting view of the brick wall outside. "Sorry," he muttered.

"No." Roy stood up for the first time, feeling small and pathetic next to this strong, vigorous young man he suddenly wished he could have watched grow up. "You're right about me. About everything. Full Metal-"

"I'm not an alchemist anymore," Edward muttered.

"Edward," Roy amended softly. One of Edward's hands curled around a bar of the window. "I'll never regret bringing you back...but I regret everything else. I was wrong."

For a moment, Edward stood, head bowed, not saying anything. "Have your papers told you what Al's working on?" he finally asked. "He's looking into chimera separation. Thinks there's a way to use the life energy of the animal to fuel the transmutation."

It was like a blow to the chest. Like an accusation that yes, Mustang, there was always another way, you were just too impatient. There was nothing to say to that, so Roy just looked at his feet.

He didn't look up until Edward said, in a small voice that hid somewhere in his large frame like the boy he had once been, "Al's always telling me I should forgive you."

Roy looked up.

Edward turned and quickly crossed the small cell to the door, knocking on it to let the warden know he was done. "I did that a long time ago."

The door swung open and he was gone. Roy doubted he would ever see the Fuhrer again, except in smudgy photos in the paper. But for the first time since his incarceration, Roy smiled.


	45. Vexing

**Author's Note: It's fairly easy to imagine Mustang taking care of Ed while he's sick, because of him taking on the "father" role in this relationship and everything. Similarly, it's easy to imagine Al taking care of Ed when he's sick, because we all know that suits of armor don't catch colds. But what happens when Ed has no choice but to take on the role of caretaker?**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 45: Vexing**

****_for writer's legend, because the idea was kind of cute X3_

Of all the craptabulous things he'd had to do for Mustang over the years, this capped them all. It was so annoying. 'Vexing,' Mustang would say – because he was a turd and thought it was cool to use fancy words rather than the _useful_ ones that everyone else did.

At least he wasn't throwing up anymore. From what he could tell from Hawkeye's fever-garbled message, he'd been making a huge annoying mess all over the place (and he believed it – it smelled a _bit_ too strongly of disinfectant and toilet cleaner to be normal for a single man's apartment). So it could be a lot worse, but still.

Edward sat in the chair, propping his elbows on his knees and glumly watching Mustang's fretful sleep. Whatever this sickness going around was, it was nasty. Hawkeye had already caught it after only tending to her officer for a day, and Edward was probably going to come down with it soon. "Figures," he muttered to himself. But Alphonse, the only one immune to germs, had decided to tend to her, so he got landed with Mustang. (By now, Edward was _convinced_ his little brother had a crush on Hawkeye. Or maybe everyone in the world hated him and loved to torment him by making him take care of the most annoying man in the world.)

Suddenly, Mustang shifted and mumbled, "Lieutenant..." He groped the air without opening his eyes. "Lieutenant...water..."

Edward sighed and awkwardly lifted Mustang's shoulders enough to help him take a sip of water. He'd given up on trying to explain that it wasn't Hawkeye watching over him anymore. Mustang choked on the water, which led to a horrible coughing fit that Edward winced to hear. He set down the glass of water and, like Alphonse always did when he was sick like this, he heaved Mustang to a sitting position. He didn't pat him gently on the back or murmur soothing phrases like Alphonse did, though. Mustang couldn't help that he was sick, but there were limits to everything.

Finally the coughing was over and Edward let the exhausted man lie back down. He checked the clock, then heaved himself up to measure out the next dose of medicine that had better be doing its work or he'd have words with that doctor. With his fist. Because it was really getting to be a pain, watching over his superior like this when he could be doing a hundred better things – like, you know, _getting his brother's body back._ Besides, much as Edward enjoyed tormenting the guy on normal days, Mustang was obviously miserable right now. And he didn't like that.

He liked it even less when, two days later, he realized he had caught the bug too. When he vomited up the sandwich he'd just eaten and checked his temperature and, sure enough, he wasn't just stir-crazy, he was sick. "Figures," he mumbled to himself, throwing back a dose of Mustang's medicine and stumbling over to see if the wet cloth on Mustang's forehead needed replacing.

"Mmm...Full Metal?" Mustang mumbled groggily when Edward put the newly-soaked cloth back on his forehead. He had finally figured out who his caretaker was yesterday, but both of them were too exhausted to get embarrassed or annoyed at the situation.

"Gonna lie down for a while," Edward said, stumbling from Mustang's bedroom and trying to find the couch. "Call me if you need something."

He collapsed onto the dilapidated cushions and descended into the darkness of fever. The next time he opened his eyes and was sure he wasn't dreaming anymore, he found himself in Mustang's bed. Blinking in confusion, he raised his head weakly and looked around at the darkened room. He was surprised, and a little pleased, to see Mustang sitting in the chair he used to sit in, fast asleep and holding a thermometer precariously between two fingers.

Mostly surprised, though. Yeah, that was it. Because if Mustang was strong enough to carry him in here, he was strong enough to get to the telephone and call someone else in to look after him.

But then, with Mustang it was usually an issue of pride. This was probably his way of proving he didn't need babying anymore. "Figures," Edward whispered to himself, lying back down and falling into a deep, contented sleep. He smiled, and Mustang saw it in the morning.


	46. Follow and Followed

**Author's Note: I don't think people often consider how much influence Mustang must have had on Ed's life – not just the obvious things like getting him into the military and helping him fight the Homunculi, but also in _who_ Ed became. Mustang probably didn't realize it himself, but all along he was giving Ed an example and incentive to become a better person, just like a father is supposed to do. That's one thing I love about him.**

**Timeline: Preseries; shortly before "Stronger, stronger"**

**Theme 46: Follow & Followed**

****_for Shayna-18 and Obsidian Buterfly, because I can kill two birds with one stone :B_

For the fifth time, Roy caught himself staring out the train window when he was supposed to be writing up his report to the Fuhrer. They still had an hour left to East City, but the report was coming agonizingly slowly. He would write a sentence or two about his amazing find, but then his mind would wander back to Edward.

_A massive circle. "Pale white and black with false citrine imperfect white and red. The peacock's feather in bright colours, the rainbow in the sky above..." A triangle within a circumscribed hexagon, marked at all points with alchemic symbols. Blood. So much blood._

"Are you thinking about Edward, sir?"

Roy looked across at Hawkeye with some surprise. Normally she would be scolding him by now, telling him to get on with his report because it needed to be sent off as soon as they got back if they were to get this arduous process in motion in preparation for the boy. After all, they would have to pull a lot of strings and bend a lot of rules to allow an eleven-year-old boy to take the test. But Hawkeye seemed to understand, as she always did. She really was an amazing woman.

"'Course I am." He gave her a tiny smile. "Can't keep him out of my mind."

_A boy, small even for his age. An empty sleeve, a squeaky wheelchair, a blanket hiding his legs. Leg. A suit of armor looming dejectedly over him. Shoulders slumped in defeat, trembling in the armor's shadow._

"Do you think he'll actually join up?"

Roy knew why Hawkeye doubted. Edward had seemed so tiny and vulnerable, like the slightest burden added to the weight on his shoulders would break him completely. Like if he tried to get out of that chair and take a single step, he would stumble and fall and not be able to get back up.

"I know he will," Roy replied with confidence, gazing back out the window as though he could look across the sunny hills to Risenpool, to one particular yellow house.

"_I'll be waiting in East City. Follow me."_

Hawkeye lowered her voice so he could barely hear it over the clacking of the train tracks. "And you really think he can help you achieve your goal?"

"Most State Alchemists volunteer their services to the State," Roy explained. "And most alchemists we offer a position to refuse because of the stigma. So if I can bring in a recommendation, and he passes the test, and is successful...it will bring me attention and esteem from the Fuhrer himself. Possibly even a transfer to Central."

He smiled at the horizon. "And Edward Elric _will_ be successful. There's no doubt about that."

_Golden eyes, burning with determination. The frail chin that trembled in defeat, now firmed in resolve. "I'm coming."_

* * *

Roy was just washing up after shaving when the door to his cell clanked open and Hawkeye stepped in. He saw her in the tiny mirror above the sink and froze in surprise. She usually visited on Saturday. Slowly, he finished toweling off his neck and turned to face her.

"The inauguration's the day after tomorrow," she said softly.

Roy crossed over to her. On her normal visits, she left her hair down and wore civvies, choosing to make them visits from one woman to one man and nothing more. Today, she wore her uniform and had her hair clipped up like the old days. It made Roy uncomfortably aware of the rough prison clothes he wore. "I know," he said carefully.

Their eyes met, and as ever they knew what the other was thinking. _It should have been you,_ Hawkeye's eyes said with confusion. She didn't know how to feel. She and the rest of his former subordinates had given their allegiance to Edward as soon as he had let them all know that he was intending to carry on Roy's ideals...but there was always something holding Hawkeye back.

Roy's gaze softened. "The country's in good hands." _It's all right. You need to give Edward your loyalty now._ He leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. "It's enough that I can watch from here. I can't wait to see what he'll do to the council."

Hawkeye seemed to relax a little. They had skated around the topic of Edward becoming Fuhrer in her last several visits, and it was obvious she had worried over how he was really taking it. To be honest, he didn't mind. Grumman had been an excellent Fuhrer and had brought some much-needed stability to their country after the Promised Day, but...he was too set in his ways. When Edward took over, the entire country would get turned upside-down and shaken out. But they would be better off for it. He would definitely be criticized by certain officials and newspaper reporters in the years to come, but the history books would praise him to high heaven. Of that, he was certain.

"You were right, you know." A touch of humor warmed Hawkeye's voice. "He did follow you that day."

"Oh, he followed me all right," Roy chuckled softly. "And kept on walking when I was ready to give up." He met her eyes again. "He's a much greater man than I am."

She stepped up to him and kissed him long, hard, and full. Roy tried not to gape at her when she pulled back. This wasn't the first time she had kissed him; ever since he had been locked away and ruined forever the chance of reaching his goal, she had ceased pretending there was nothing between them, because there was no reason to anymore. But this time... "What was that for?"

Nonchalantly, Hawkeye brushed lint off his shoulders and buttoned the top button of his coarse shirt again. "That was for the man I came to love when I was just a girl. The man you still are. I just wish you would stop pretending you're a useless failure."

Then, as if she hadn't just taken his breath away and made him want to kiss her again, she checked her watch and said, "My coffee break is up; I'd better get back."

"Wait," he called after her as she headed for the door. "Tell me this. Why didn't you shoot me as soon as I strayed from the path? I'd say I strayed pretty far."

She turned and smiled sadly at him. "Because you needed to apologize to Edward."

Then she was gone, and he sat slowly down on his cot. Hawkeye was truly an amazing woman. She had known, even before he did, that he finally regretted what he had done. And so, when Edward surprised him with a visit the next day, he thought of Hawkeye and apologized.


	47. Look up and Look down

**Author's Note: It's probably just because I was writing this fic at the time, but all through my last viewing of Brotherhood, I had a heightened sensitivity to all the scenes between Ed and Mustang. The scene I've extrapolated on here is one that stuck out to me especially, and I feel like the way Brotherhood handled it finally made me understand exactly why Mustang acted the way he did. It's kind of surprising, really, until you realize that this means he really does care for Ed a _lot._ It's like Dumbledore says to Harry Potter at the end of the fifth book: "I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth."**

**Timeline: Episode 16 (specifically Brotherhood)**

**Theme 47: Look up & Look down**

He had told himself he was handling it well. That he had accepted his best friend's death. That as long as he could search for Hughes's killer and worm his way to the top, he could find the strength to carry on alone. Everyone around him was an adult and a soldier, so that made it all easier – no tears, no sympathetic smiles that would only make it more painful. They all knew Hughes had died in the line of duty, that he had fought to the end, and that was the best death a soldier could die. Besides, they were all looking to Roy to lead them forward, to forge ahead despite every setback. With so many people relying on him, he _had_ to be strong.

So of course he had forgotten. When he emerged from the men's room and approached Hawkeye waiting for him at the end of the hallway, and turned to find himself looking down at Edward, at first it didn't occur to him. He exchanged the usual bantering insults with his extremely short subordinate, and innocently asked, "So what are you two doing in Central?"

Edward shrugged carelessly. "You know, the usual – just seeking the impossible. And we thought we'd visit Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. How's he doing?"

The naïve, unsuspecting grin hit him as hard as if Edward had punched him with his automail fist. The boy didn't know. They hadn't heard. Naturally, they'd been gone for the past week or two, making the trek down south to visit their teacher in Dublith, and no one ever bothered to try to get ahold of them when they were on the move. They moved around so much, no one ever knew how to contact them at any given time.

The grin slipped a notch as Edward registered Roy's expression. Roy swallowed the emotion he thought he'd left behind and softly began, "He's gone."

Edward's face immediately fell, momentarily blank as he tried to understand what Roy was getting at. Alphonse listened curiously as well, and Hawkeye looked at her feet. In the moment that his eyes connected with Edward's, Roy realized just how _young_ the boy was. Fifteen. Baby-fat still rounded his youthful face, and his eyes were so large and round and pure. Despite all he'd seen and endured, he was still a child because he believed that there would always be someone waiting for him when he came home. That there were some adults who were untouchable, utterly dependable, nigh immortal.

Roy abruptly turned away. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. He couldn't stand there and watch those bright golden eyes dim with the ugliness of this horrible world. This callous, cold world that could so easily kill a man with a heart large enough to embrace it all.

"Hughes moved to the country," Roy said harshly, ignoring the incredulous look he could feel Hawkeye glaring at the back of his neck. "With his wife and daughter. He took up the family business, far away from all this trouble."

"That's too bad," Alphonse said. "I wish we'd known."

"Yeah, I really wanted to see him again," Edward said. He sounded disappointed, but there was none of the horrified devastation Roy knew he would feel if he heard that Hughes was dead. At least he could take comfort in that.

Dead...

"Full Metal," Roy said, glaring into space so fiercely that a passing secretary started and scurried nervously the other way. "Don't do anything reckless."

He wanted to say more, or at least to phrase it better so he didn't sound so worried, but his throat closed on the words and he could hardly breathe. Hughes had died because he was investigating the Homunculi and had learned too much. And he had been a quick-witted veteran who knew how to be cautious when necessary. But what did a brash fifteen-year-old know about keeping his head down and being discreet? He wouldn't stop until he knew the truth, but if he found out whatever it was that Hughes had discovered...it would all be over. He would die.

And then Roy really _would_ be alone.

"Huh?" Edward said flippantly, already turning to leave. "Yeah, whatever."

They went their separate ways, and Roy took a deep breath, trying to master himself. Trying to convince himself he would see the boy again, somewhere other than the morgue.

"Why treat them like children all of a sudden?" Hawkeye asked behind him.

Roy shook himself out of his reverie. "They don't need to know right now. It would just hold them back. We need to do everything we can to help them reach their goal." But he knew that wasn't completely true. He smiled bitterly. "I guess I have no right to call Armstrong a softie, do I?"

"Soft?" Roy was surprised at how cold Hawkeye's voice had become. "I don't see anything soft about it. It's cruel, sir."

Roy turned around, stung. "What do you mean? I'm just trying to spare them any more pain."

The stern frown on the Lieutenant's face didn't lighten at all. "And how painful do you think it will be once they find out the truth? You know they will eventually. You can't hide it from them forever. And when Edward knows that you lied to him? He'll think you didn't consider him capable of handling the truth. And how can he look up to you if he thinks you look down on him?"

She was right, of course. She always was. He couldn't meet her hard eyes anymore. Slowly, wearily, he turned and began trudging back to his office. "Then I guess he'll just have to hate me. What's new?"

"You know that's not true," Hawkeye said softly behind him. "And I'm not going to stand by and watch you jeopardize your relationship with Edward just because you lost your best friend."

Roy felt exposed and vulnerable, as he often did around Hawkeye. Maybe what he really wished was that he had someone to hide the truth from him, so he didn't have to face it, and could blithely reach for his goals without the weight of grief holding him back. If that was true, then he really was selfish, and deserved all of Edward's hatred. He deserved to be alone.


	48. Smiling Face

**Author's Note: I've always been a little disappointed that, no matter the version, even though Ed gets all upset once he finds out that Hughes's death has been kept from him, he never actually confronts Mustang about it. Considering their relationship and how important Hughes was to Ed, I was expecting it. Since it never actually panned out and Ed always focuses on more pressing matters, I decided to follow up on that idea instead. It took me quite a while to figure out where I could squeeze this scene in, and I'm still not completely convinced it would work with what comes later, but this was the best I could come up with.**

**Also, I've realized that probably most people don't check my profile that often, so I'm also going to announce it here: In light of the new Cover Image feature, if you make fanart to be used as a cover for any of my fics and I decide it represents the story well enough to use it, I will credit you in my Author's Note and include a link to your deviantART page or other art page you might have. FREE ADVERTISING! :D  
**

**Timeline: Episode 16 (specifically Brotherhood)**

**Theme 48: Smiling face**

****_for Obsidian Buterfly, because great minds think alike ;)_

"Take care of Winry, okay?"

"But Brother, where are you going?"

"There's just something I have to do."

It was a mark of how grieved they all were that Alphonse didn't protest any further, and just gently herded Winry through the revolving doors of their hotel. Instead of following them, Edward turned and stomped off towards Headquarters. He pushed aside all the grief and guilt teeming inside him to the back of his mind, and instead blew on the embers of anger inside him until they flared up into a bright blaze. It was something he was as well-practiced in doing as transmuting his automail into a sword.

He had needed the protection of that anger many times before. Now he needed it more than ever.

The sight of Edward Elric stalking down the halls of Central Headquarters in high dudgeon was so common a sight that no one tried to stop him or impede his path to Colonel Mustang's office, and for that he was savagely grateful. They knew better than to cross him. Even Mustang's subordinates let their cheery greetings die on their lips when he stomped into the room; only Hawkeye was brave enough to say something to him, but he ignored her and made a beeline for Mustang's office.

As usual, he smashed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall and deepened the dent already there, then slammed it shut again. As usual, Mustang said boredly, "Hello, Full Metal," not looking up until he'd finished another line of his paperwork. But this wasn't a usual visit, and Edward could see that Mustang realized this the moment their eyes connected. The ever-present smirk faded away as he asked, "What's the matter?"

Edward stomped up to the desk and planted his hands on it, not caring that he was crumpling a few papers in the process. "You know _exactly_ what the matter is, you _liar,_" he spat. "Ross told me, not even half an hour after you fed me that story of yours. Hughes is dead and _you didn't even tell me!_" He shouted the last few words and shoved half the contents of Mustang's desk onto the floor. An ink bottle shattered and spread an ugly black blotch on the floor, but Mustang didn't flinch. He didn't move an inch.

His already fair skin had paled even further, and his expression was frozen between surprise and guilt. "I..." He didn't seem able to think of what to say.

But Edward didn't have the patience to wait for him. "Why did you lie to me?" he demanded. "You told me that he went to the country! You didn't say a word about him dying because of me, or Miss Gracia trying so hard to be strong, or...or Elysia not having a father anymore..." He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of the family he had just left, and the sound of Elysia desperately trying to comfort her mother even though she didn't understand what was going on.

Mustang finally seemed to have found his voice. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice so unlike his usual confidence.

That made the anger flare up again, enough that he stalked around the desk and grabbed Mustang by the collar. "Did you think I couldn't handle the truth?" His voice was rising again, but he didn't care. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? That you could just treat me like I was Elysia who barely even knows what death is? So you thought you could just pat me on the head and send me on my way and I'd never put two and two together, huh?"

"No. I just...wanted to spare you...for as long as possible."

The punch he landed on Mustang's cheek wasn't as satisfying as he'd always imagined it would be, the hundreds of times he had fantasized about it over the years. Maybe that was because Mustang didn't retaliate, or even react except to let his head snap to the side. It was like he was accepting his just punishment, and somehow that rubbed Edward the wrong way. He let go of Mustang's shirt and gave him a little push. "I trusted you," he said, trying to stoke up his anger but feeling the pain all the same. "I've told you all my secrets and everything that's ever happened to me, because I wanted to believe there was someone in this whole stupid military who would treat me like an equal and a _person._ But I should've known better. I should've known you'd be just like everyone else who only looks at my age and my size-"

"That's not true." Mustang let out a weary sigh and met Edward's angry gaze again. "I didn't lie because I thought you couldn't handle the truth. I lied because _I _can't handle it. I can't handle the thought that Hughes is..." He abruptly got to his feet and turned his back on Edward, looking out the window.

It took Edward a moment to realize Mustang was trying not to cry. He looked down at his feet because he didn't know where else to look. "So you said all that because you wanted to believe it yourself? You wanted to believe...that he might come back someday."

A small sob that Mustang tried to disguise as a cough made his shoulders shake. Edward felt increasingly awkward. This wasn't how things were supposed to go at all. He was supposed to storm in with his righteous anger and see Mustang fight back but ultimately admit defeat. Mustang wasn't supposed to suddenly prove that he was human and start sobbing against the window.

But then...Hughes _had_ been Mustang's best friend. Everyone loved Hughes, even when they lived in fear of his reams and reams of photos. But it had always been obvious that there was something more important going on between the two men than just camaraderie or the irresistible pull of Hughes's smiling face. They weren't just friends or fellow soldiers. They would lay down their lives for each other, and Hughes had already proven that. When he had pestered Ross for details about Hughes's death, she had mentioned that he had been calling Mustang when he died.

Edward wanted nothing more than to beat a hasty retreat through the door and let Mustang get ahold of himself before the tension in the air got any thicker. But as he looked at Mustang's back and listened to his shaky breathing, Edward wondered what Hughes would do in this situation. Naturally, that man would never leave well enough alone. He would stick his nose in as far as it would go, if there was the slightest chance he could be a help or comfort to the people he cared about.

When Edward tentatively touched Mustang's arm, the older man fell apart completely. He stopped trying to pretend he had it all together, slumped against the window, and began to cry. It was almost frightening to see the man who was normally so driven and intimidating reduced to this. And all because of one man's death...

Edward finally understood why Mustang had tried to keep the truth from him.


	49. Untouchable

**Author's Note: The original gem of this idea was actually a bit that I wrote in the previous chapter, unintentionally making it work for this theme too: "Despite all he'd seen and endured, he was still a child because he believed that there would always be someone waiting for him when he came home. That there were some adults who were untouchable, utterly dependable, nigh immortal." Then a few days later, I was reading "Forgiveness" by Sevlow and noticed this line: "The untouchable Flame Alchemist: a ranting, suicidal wreck?" Those two inspirations collided, and I knew exactly what I would have to write for this chapter.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 49: Untouchable**

It was a rare sight. The outer office was completely empty, none of the men leaning back in their chairs or making paper airplanes out of forms they ought to be filling out, no Hawkeye calmly doing her work. He'd been fully prepared to stomp in, gripe in return for their cheerful greetings, and then storm into Mustang's office and let off some of the steam that had been building up over the long train ride.

But it was weird. All the chairs were pushed in and the papers neatly filed away, rather than everything skewed and haphazard like it would be if they were all out to lunch or something. (And besides, it was three in the afternoon. Hawkeye would never stand for such a late lunch.) His anger slowly filtered away, confusion taking its place, as Edward slowly stepped into the office and looked around. It was like no one had even come into work today...

He was just starting to wonder if he'd somehow miscalculated and it was Saturday or something, but he noticed that Mustang's door was ajar, so he stuck his head in just to make sure. Mustang was there, standing next to the window as he often was, silhouetted against the sunny glare of the parade grounds outside. He was holding something close to his chest, and as Edward watched, he slowly turned it around and pressed it under his chin. Funny, it almost looked like...

He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a weird, strangled gasp as he burst into the room. Mustang's eyes flicked over to him and widened, his finger squeezing harder around the trigger of the revolver he had pressed to the fleshy underside of his jaw. Then came an ear-shattering blast of noise that seemed to crash through Edward's entire body, and for a moment he couldn't figure out what had happened. That explosion of sound seemed so different from all the other gunshots he had ever heard.

But finally he forced himself to take another breath, and saw that the window had shattered and the gun was now in his hand. He stared at the broken shards of the window, stunned, but was brought roughly back to reality when Mustang suddenly lunged for the gun. Fighting off the older man with difficulty, Edward managed to maneuver himself so he could toss the pistol out the window. Mustang thrust a hand into his pocket, but Edward had already thought of that, and ripped the gloves from his superior's hands. He was completely remorseless when they tore in two and fluttered to the floor.

Suddenly, all the fight left Mustang and he slumped to his knees. Somehow, that brought all of Edward's previous anger boiling to the surface again. He grabbed Mustang by the collar and shoved him against the wall. "What the _hell_ was that, Mustang?" he demanded. "What d'you think you're _doing?_"

Mustang let out a mirthless chuckle and raised his eyes to meet Edward's. They were blank and empty. "What does it look like? I'm killing myself."

He punched Mustang. Several times. Somehow he'd thought it would be savagely satisfying, but when he let his fist fall to his side again and looked at the bruise beginning to form on Mustang's cheekbone, he just felt sick. It didn't help that Mustang wasn't retaliating, as if he thought he deserved this treatment.

"Where are the others?" Edward snarled. "Why aren't they here to stop you from being such a _moron?_"

Mustang was smiling in an unnerving, slightly crazy way. "It was a delicate operation, but I managed it. I sent them all away on different pretexts, and made sure to do it on Hawkeye's day off. I guess you're the one piece of this puzzle I can't control, Full Metal. I didn't think you'd be back today."

Edward's heart thudded in his chest as he realized that, if he'd finished up his latest mission a day later, he would have returned to discover he would have to attend this stupid man's funeral. In that moment, he didn't care if God existed or not; he thanked Him anyway that he'd been in the right place at the right time. "Why are you so dead-set on blowing yourself away all of a sudden?" he demanded, letting go of Mustang's shirt and watching him slither back to the floor. With a disgusted sigh, he plopped down beside the older man.

The smile was gone now, he saw. Mustang's face sagged, and Edward saw with shock how hollow his cheeks were, how dark circles gaped under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept a full night or eaten a real meal in a week. Slowly, realization of what he had just prevented Mustang from doing seeped into his consciousness. Mustang had seriously intended to commit suicide.

It was absurd. Roy Mustang, the confident, swaggering, conceited idiot who always knew what to do. He always had an idea for how to continue, a reminder of the goal they were all seeking, a little push in the right direction that (even though it was annoying as hell most of the time) somehow made it possible to put one foot in front of the other again, no matter how many times they'd fallen. But now Mustang was slumped against the wall – no hope, no future, not even the strength to stay alive. Roy Mustang was supposed to be invulnerable, untouchable, beyond the reach of everything.

But now he was in a thousand tiny pieces.

"Stop looking so surprised," Mustang finally said in an exhausted voice. "It's not like this is a new development. Ishbal is inside me all the time. Sometimes it breaks through." He closed his eyes. "Look at me, Full Metal. Admit it, I'm a broken man. Broken by my own failures. You shouldn't have stopped me. I deserve to die."

Edward snorted in disgust. "So you're a bit depressed today. Suck it up, you idiot! You don't have the time to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. So cut the crap and get back to work, you big baby!"

Mustang chuckled humorlessly again. "You really have no tact, do you?" Then he turned to face his accuser again, his eyes boring into Edward's like a steel drill. "You don't know what I've _done,_ Full Metal. I've burned whole cities alive. I've slaughtered old men and women and children. I've killed innocent _babies,_ Full Metal. I snapped my fingers and they went up in flames, shrieking as their skin was roasted from their bones, till the whole sky was dark and human ash rained down on me. I'm coated in their blood. So don't try to tell me that I don't deserve to die, Edward Elric. How could you _possibly_ know that?"

This was one of those topics that was understood as taboo around the office. Edward stared at Mustang with shock, unable to look away even though he longed to. When Mustang sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall again, Edward let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. For one long minute, silence fell between them as they both thought over what Mustang had said.

But finally Edward pushed himself to his feet and glared down at Mustang, crossing his arms over his chest. "You really are an idiot," he snapped. "You're the Flame Alchemist, and I get that you did some horrible things during the war. But you think you're the only one who's done some awful things? You think there's no one else who doesn't wonder sometimes if it had been better if he'd never been born?"

Slowly, Mustang looked up in confusion. Edward gritted his teeth and said with slow, vicious honesty, "I killed my own _mother,_ Mustang. She was dead and at peace in her grave for a whole year, and I resurrected her and stuffed her into a twisted failure of a body. You didn't see that thing I created, did you? Granny Pinako had already buried it by the time you came. Her legs were on _backwards,_ Mustang. All of her organs were bursting out of the skin, disconnected from each other, blood pouring everywhere. I could see her heart beating wildly, speared on one of her ribs. She couldn't even breathe because her lungs weren't even connected. I put her into that body and forced her to live a few last moments of agony before she died again. And then I _ripped_ my brother's _soul_ out of his body and put it in a tin can, just because I felt _lonely!_"

His vision blurred with tears, but he angrily swiped them aside and continued. At least he had Mustang's attention. "I have every reason to kill myself, but I haven't given up. I'm going to keep moving forward, no matter what, because those things were _my_ fault and _I_ have to put them right again! It's not that two wrongs make a right, because that's not the point. I've done horrible things to the only family I've got. But just because I've made some terrible mistakes and taken the wrong choices, that doesn't give me an excuse to keep from doing some _good._ If I killed myself today, I wouldn't be able to give Al a body again. I wouldn't be able to help people, or even be there for the people I care about the most."

He put his hands on his hips and loomed over Mustang, ignoring the tears that continued to trickle down his cheeks. "I don't care _how_ many people you killed, or how horribly they died. They were your mistakes, and they'll be with you forever. There's nothing you can do to erase that. But you can put all that behind you, and keep moving forward one step at a time. You can work towards making this country a better place, so that not only will _you_ not have to kill anyone again, _no one_ will. So get up, Colonel. You have a job to do, and you can't do it if you're dead."

He held out a hand, and for a moment Mustang only looked at it as if he'd never seen one before. Then Mustang accepted his help and got to his feet again, his grip warm and firm and full of life. He towered over Edward again, and he still looked like hell warmed over, but when he smiled, it actually had some humor behind it again. "When did you grow up while I wasn't looking?"

Edward smirked and punched Mustang on the arm. "When you turned into a whiny teenager."


	50. Desire to Monopolize

**Author's Note: Halfway through! I find it rather ironic that such a momentous point in a Parental!RoyEd fic would end up being more about Parental!RoyAl instead :P I'll admit to being influenced by "They Grow Up So Fast" by Miskcat, which I read a long time ago but has stuck with me as the primary way I view Mustang and Al's interactions in such a situation. (Please go read it and "The Unweaving" and give them lots of love! Great fics.) And since I already had an Ed-is-dead-and-Mustang's-taking-care-of-Al situation lying around, I thought I might as well continue it. Hopefully I haven't made the two OOC; they've both been through a lot, and hardships change people, but at a couple points I wasn't sure if I had pushed it a bit too far. Anyway, thanks to all who have stuck with this for fifty chapters, and here's to fifty more! :D**

**Timeline: Six months after "Rejected?"**

**Theme 50: Desire to monopolize**

_for Obsidian Buterfly, who got her wish sooner than expected_

"I'm home!" Roy called out, hanging up his coat. He heard an indistinct response from the kitchen, so he tossed his keys onto the hall table and poked his head through the door.

Normally, such a domestic scene would end with greeting a lovely wife who was just putting dinner on the table...but the one wearing an apron and stirring the pot of spaghetti on the stove was Alphonse Elric. The boy turned around cheerfully, his long blonde ponytail flipping dangerously close to the open flame, and he said briskly, "Supper's almost ready, so go wash up!"

Roy hesitated a moment, watching Alphonse turn back around and start buttering some bread and sprinkling on garlic to warm up in the oven. With a fond smile, Roy left him to it and followed his young friend's orders. Alphonse had come such a long way from the day Edward had given up his own failing body to retrieve Alphonse's frail, wasted body at last.

It had been a hard six months for both of them, but they had pulled through together. Alphonse had cried every waking hour for three days straight, and once the first sting of grief was gone, the only thing that kept him from trying to follow his brother into death was the promise he had made to live on. Roy had been there every step of the way, fulfilling _his_ promise to Edward. Always before, Roy had dealt with grief very badly. He would bottle it all up inside himself, not letting himself think about it, until finally it all burst out in an emotional breakdown that led to a week of binging until someone came along and reminded him why life was worth living. But this time, even though the road of grief had been rocky, he had someone else to live for, care for, worry over. He had made a promise, so he poured all the strength of his grief into Alphonse.

Roy threw off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, splashing water onto his face and washing away the worries of the office. It was amazing how much more efficient he was these days, now that he had someone waiting for him to come home. It was like...having a family again, something he'd almost forgotten in the long years since he had left his foster family to learn alchemy, and then joined the military. Home was more than just the place he crashed after a long day of work. Now it was a place of warmth and stability, a safe haven the rest of his life orbited around.

Though Roy had always _liked_ Alphonse, he had never been particularly close to the boy. Alphonse spoke to him politely and respectfully, which was much more than could be said of his brother, but because Roy had spent so much more time with Edward, he had barely known Alphonse better than a cordial acquaintance. But in the weeks that followed Edward's death, the two had grown very close very fast. In the first few weeks, Roy fed Alphonse like a baby, helped him to the bathroom, helped him wash himself, and spent tireless hours helping him through the exercises that would strengthen his body once more. He supported Alphonse's weight as they walked slowly up and down the hallway, he hovered at the bedside through several colds and viruses Alphonse caught in quick succession, and happily ushered Alphonse into his own home as soon as the doctors let him.

Necessity had done away with any awkwardness they might have felt, and now it was like things had always been this way. Like they were actually related, and this was only the natural thing to do after Edward had died. Roy smiled as he returned to the kitchen. Family.

Their conversation started out like any other evening. Roy told stories of the men's antics in the office that day, and Alphonse explained (between ravenous bites of food reminiscent of another Elric) how he had gone to the market, all the wonderful sensations he'd experienced there, and how he'd bought the most amazing 10-cenz ice cream cone and walked through the park, where he'd run into the Hugheses. Roy made his usual concerned remark that Alphonse would wear himself out, and as ever Alphonse rolled his eyes. They continued chatting and laughing as they washed the dishes and sat down for a drink of warm milk afterward (since Alphonse's body still didn't seem to handle caffeine too well).

After a brief lull in the conversation, Roy leaned over the table slightly and said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about something, Al." He ignored the wary look these words received in response. "I know it's taken you a while to get back on your feet, but I've been thinking that maybe you should think about going to school. I doubt high school would be challenging enough for you, but maybe you should consider college."

Alphonse was frowning, and he tugged the red coat he wore everywhere closer around himself. "Brother's the genius, not me," he muttered.

"Or if that doesn't interest you," Roy continued, pretending he hadn't heard, "I'm sure we can arrange for an alchemy tutor."

"Why?"

It seemed painfully obvious to Roy, and he was sure Alphonse was just being stubborn on purpose, but he did his best to keep his voice level. "You have a lot of potential, Al. You're a very skilled alchemist, and I know you can become even better. You need to study so you can realize this potential and become the best you can be."

"Stop," Alphonse snapped, finally looking up. Roy was surprised at how much anger was in his expression. "Just stop it, okay? I'm sick and tired of your desire to monopolize my life!"

"Desire to...?" Roy clenched his teeth, not about to let such an accusation go. "Now listen here, young man, I'm only trying to-"

"And stop acting like you're my father!" Alphonse shot to his feet. "You're not my dad. You're not my _brother._ You don't have _anything_ to do with me. You've helped me out and taken care of me, but I know you only did that because you promised my brother you would. You wish that he was here instead of me!"

He bit his lip and tried to storm out the door past Roy's chair, but Roy grabbed his sleeve as he passed. "Wait-"

_Rrrrrip._

Roy slowly got to his feet as Alphonse froze in shock. They both stared down at the red cloth between Roy's fingers, and the large rip down the length of the sleeve. Alphonse shrugged out of his coat and stared at the dangling strips of cloth, his wide eyes growing bright with tears. Then he whipped his head up and glared at Roy. "I _hate_ you," he choked out, then threw the ruined coat at Roy's feet and stormed off to his room.

Roy stood staring at the pool of blood-red cloth at his feet, dimly aware of a door slamming upstairs.

* * *

An hour and much brooding later, Roy sat in the living room threading a needle. He was no master tailor, not by a long shot, but he had taught himself when he decided to make his gloves, and it had often been a necessity in Ishbal. It came in handy since then as well, since he lived alone. Thankfully, the rip in Alphonse's coat had been right along the seam (which he suspected had been weakened by the many times Edward had turned his arm into a sword and then repaired the damage with alchemy), so it wouldn't be too hard to fix.

Roy tried not to think of Alphonse's last words as he worked. It was only understandable that he would be that upset; this was the last piece of his brother he had left. If it was destroyed, it would be a final reminder that Edward was gone forever.

Looking up when he heard shuffling footsteps, Roy saw Alphonse standing awkwardly in the doorway. He glanced down at what Roy was doing, then looked at his feet. "I'm sorry."

Roy set aside his mending and stood. "No. I'm the one who should apologize. I've been pushy and overprotective, I know. It's because of the state you were in at first, but that's no excuse so much farther down the road." He stepped a little closer. "I...I _did_ start taking care of you mainly because of my promise to Ed, but...that's not the only reason anymore." He scratched his ear awkwardly, wishing Alphonse would look up so he could know he wasn't talking to a brick wall. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be to you – I'm too young to be your father, too old to be your brother – but whatever you need me to be..."

Then Alphonse looked up, tears rolling down his cheeks. He stepped closer and leaned his forehead against Roy's shoulder with a defeated sob. "I just need you to not leave me _ever._"

Roy swallowed with difficulty and pulled him into an embrace. He combed his fingers through the ends of Alphonse's hair, as he had learned early on would always calm Alphonse down.

"I know you're not my brother," Alphonse said thickly, his voice muffled by cloth and tears, "and I know you're not trying to replace him...but I miss him so _much._ I'm so ungrateful, even after all you've done for me...because I was talking about myself before, you know. Sometimes I wish you were my brother instead."

Alphonse's spindly fingers dug into Roy's back as his voice broke and his whole body shook with sobs. "Shhh," Roy murmured, rubbing the boy's back in a rhythmic motion. He was far too used to comforting a weeping Alphonse. "It's okay. I understand. I would do almost anything if I thought it would bring him back." Then, before he could stop himself, he whispered, "I'm sorry I'm not him."

At that, Alphonse pulled back. "No!" he said with startling intensity, brushing his tears aside. "Don't think that – _ever._ I want you to be Roy Mustang. You could never be my brother, and I don't want you to be. Just like I wouldn't want him to be you."

Despite the seriousness of the occasion, Roy smirked and adopted a squeaky voice that sounded nothing like Edward. "'Who are you calling a lazy self-righteous colonel with a god complex?'"

Alphonse burst out laughing, even as tears continued to trickle down his face. He swiped his hand across his eyes again and smiled up at Roy like he always did. If Roy had wondered even for a moment, that look confirmed that Alphonse didn't hate him.

Roy gently wiped away a few tears that were rolling down towards Alphonse's chin. "I won't push you if you don't want to pursue your alchemy any further. It's your future; you should do whatever you want with it."

"No. You were only trying to help, and you were right." He smiled calmly, as if he had weathered a terrible storm and had finally reached the answer. "I'm going to become a State Alchemist, and help you become Fuhrer."

For a moment, Roy could only blink down at him in surprise. "What...? You don't have to do that."

"It's what Brother would have wanted."

"Really?" No one knew Edward better than his brother, of course, but this was the first Roy had ever heard of the boy caring much about his ambitions.

"Of course getting my body back was always his first priority," Alphonse explained calmly. "And he wasn't about to admit it himself, but I know that if we were able to get our bodies back, after the first several months of getting back in shape and enjoying our time together, Brother would have come back here and helped you reach the top. You're the one who's going to make this country a better place, after all."

Roy stared down at Alphonse, and as he watched he could almost see his face sharpening and hardening into Edward's, eyes blazing with determination and focus. He could almost hear the brash voice he had known so well muttering grumpily, _What? Of course I'd come back. You'd never get anywhere without me!_

It was becoming difficult to breathe, and Alphonse's eyebrows raised slightly. Roy pulled him into another hug. "Oh, you boys..." All this time, he'd thought he was helping _them_ out.

"I never realized how much I needed a little brother."


	51. Antipyretic

**Author's Note: I must confess I almost forgot about this chapter, because the next one has eclipsed my entire mind and inspiration (...you'll see what I mean when we get there). At first, I assumed the prompt was talking about some kind of protection against flame, which is surprisingly fitting for these two. But just to be sure, I looked up the word in the dictionary, and actually it's a fever medicine o.0 I'm not sure if that was the original intention or if it's a miscommunication of some kind, but I was rather disgruntled since I've already covered the scenario of one of them taking care of the other when he has a fever from every angle I can think of. Then this idea hit me out of nowhere, and I ran with it. I couldn't figure out any way to make this fit in seamlessly with the canon storyline, so take this as an AU offshoot sometime after the battle against Lust, so they know about the underground lair and the Homunculi and everything, but events haven't quite started leading towards the Promised Day yet.**

**Timeline: Midseries (AU)**

**Theme 51: Antipyretic**

Roy stealthily crept down the narrow, dark hallway, keeping his back pressed against the cold stone wall. Both hands were poised to snap at a second's notice, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. They'd gotten separated, and Envy could be lurking behind any corner. He never appreciated Hawkeye watching his back as much as he did when she wasn't there.

He peeked around the next corner. Nothing. He jumped out into this adjoining corridor, knowing he was hopelessly lost but prepared to face anything.

"Mustang! Thank goodness!"

Roy whirled around when he heard the voice behind him, relaxing slightly when he saw Edward standing there, hands inches away from each other as though he'd been about to attack.

"Full Metal?"

Edward started to rush forward, but Roy raised his hand again. "Huh?"

Roy narrowed his eyes. "How do I know you're not Envy?" It was a worry that had been eating at him ever since he, Hawkeye, and Edward had gotten separated and Envy was out of sight. How could he know for sure?

"Are you serious?" Edward angrily swiped his hand through the air. "This is hardly the time-"

"Stay where you are!" Roy barked as Edward tried to come forward again.

"Hey Mustang, what're you-"

Roy whipped his head around at the familiar voice behind him. Edward stood there, looking confused until he spotted the other Edward in front of Roy. Immediately he got into a fighting stance and snarled, "Envy!"

"So that _is_ Envy," Roy said, turning back to face the first Edward.

"No, you idiot, _he's_ Envy!"

"Are you crazy? Can't you tell I'm the real Ed?"

"No, _I'm_ the real one! You've known me for four years and you can't even recognize me?"

"He's just trying to trick you, Colonel!"

Roy looked between the two boys in confusion, beginning to doubt. He pointed one hand at each one, looking between them for some clue as to which one was real. But they were identical, right down to the stubborn bit of hair sticking up in front and the glares they were sending his way. No one moved for a moment or two, Roy caught in doubt and the Edwards unable to move for fear of his alchemy. He gazed into one Edward's eyes, then the other, trying to detect some hint of malice or humanity or _something._ But whichever one was Envy, he was doing an excellent job of imitating the glare Roy was so used to seeing.

One of the Edwards narrowed his eyes. The other's eyebrow twitched. Finally one of them growled, "Hurry and make up your mind!"

Was that gravelly undertone normally in Edward's voice when he was angry? Roy turned to face the Edward he had first seen. "Caught you, Envy."

Just as he snapped, sending a rush of flame down the hallway, the imposter threw his arms in front of his face and yelled, "No, you idiot, behind you!"

Before he could turn around, a thick, greenish arm wrapped several times around his neck like a boa constrictor. As the air was squeezed out of his lungs and he gripped the tough green arm with both hands, trying to loosen its hold, the flames died away. But not before they had hit Edward and sent him sprawling.

Envy, still wearing Edward's face though his arm was far longer than it should be, leered over Roy's shoulder, pressing the boy's face close to his. It looked just like Edward, but with a manic grin made of teeth that were far too sharp. "I just love to see you pathetic worms wriggle around in confusion," Envy gloated. "For all you humans talk about _love_ and _loyalty,_ you can't even recognize-"

Out of nowhere, a stone fist hit Envy in the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground, which greeted him with welcoming arms that wrapped around him and pinned him to the floor. Envy, now in his usual form, struggled and shouted various foul names, but Roy was focused on trying to get his breath back. He looked up at Edward, lying on the ground and cradling his left hand against his chest. The palm was an angry red from where it had touched the searing metal of his right hand. Half of his clothes were burned away, though his face seemed adequately protected from his arms shielding him.

Appalled at what he had done, Roy hurried over to the boy and knelt down at his side. He cast his eyes briefly over Edward's body, assessing the damage. The entire left side of his body lay exposed, the charred remains of his clothing still clinging to him in places. Thankfully, the spurt of flames had been brief and quickly extinguished...but it looked bad. "Full Metal...?"

Edward cracked his eyes open long enough to croak out, "You're a real jerk," before he passed out.

Running footsteps approached, and Roy tried to rise, ready to snap again, but it was just Hawkeye. She glanced around, assessing the situation. Her eyes widened when she saw the burn marks on Edward's body, then she pressed her lips together, as ever focusing on what needed to be done. "We need to get out of here, fast."

Roy hung his head, then gathered the boy into his arms, struggling to his feet. "I've done it again."

* * *

Roy nodded briefly to Hawkeye, passing her in the hallway on her way out. They had brought Edward back to his house, since it was the closest safe place they could get to. He had briefly thought of going to the hospital, but...as usual with the people he burned, that wasn't a very good option since it would lead to far too many questions. So now he and Hawkeye took it in shifts to watch over the boy, hoping they could avoid too much suspicion until Edward was at least well enough to return to his usual hotel room.

Alphonse was sitting at Edward's side as always, murmuring a soft greeting as Roy stepped into his bedroom and set the latest dose of antipyretic on the bedside table. The boy was doing pretty well, considering the less-than-professional treatment he was receiving, but he'd been running a fever for several days. He lifted the cloth from Edward's forehead and felt it with the back of his hand. Satisfied, he told Alphonse in a low voice, "His fever seems to be breaking."

"I thought maybe it was," Alphonse said with obvious relief, "since he was sweating a lot and seemed to be sleeping easier. But I couldn't tell for sure, because..."

Roy nodded, brushing a few damp locks of hair off Edward's forehead and put the cloth back. The only way Alphonse would be able to tell how hot Edward was would be to use a thermometer. He pulled up the other chair and sat down with a sigh on the other side of the bed, looking glumly at his unexpected patient. This was all his fault. How could he have been so rash and _stupid?_

Edward gave a soft moan and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and looked around, taking in his surroundings. His eyes still looked exhausted and feverish, but he seemed more lucid than he had since Roy had burned him. "Al?" he groaned, and Alphonse leaned forward with a clank, taking his hand immediately.

"I'm here. How are you feeling?"

Edward considered for a moment, then said, "Okay, I guess." Then he glanced back at Roy. "Did you get Envy?"

Roy shook his head. "We had to get you out of there as soon as we could and get you some treatment."

Edward frowned. "Is it really that bad?"

"You were burned all down your left side, Brother," Alphonse said in a tiny voice.

Guilt twisted cruelly in Roy's stomach. He found he couldn't quite meet Edward's eyes when he said, "We couldn't give you expert medical treatment, so it's probably going to scar."

Edward smiled at that. "Hey, now we'll be matching."

Roy's side seemed to twinge as he remembered the twisted scar curling around his own left side. "That...was different. I had to cauterize my wound to keep myself alive, but...I had no reason to burn you. I was...I was foolish and rash, and I'm sorry." There. He'd said it, and it sounded so flat and inadequate now. He hung his head, waiting for Edward to berate him.

"S'okay," Edward mumbled through a yawn. "Gonna go back to sleep now."

Roy's head came up in confusion. "What? That's it? You're not...angry about it?"

Edward pried one eye open. "Huh? 'Course not. It was an accident, wasn't it? You thought I was Envy, that's all. Sheesh, you worry about the weirdest things, Colonel." He rolled over onto his side, snuggling deeper into the pillows and falling asleep almost instantly.

Roy smiled, his heart lighter than it had been all week, and readjusted the cloth over Edward's forehead again. "I guess you're right."


	52. I Won't Surrender

**Author's Note: I did not write this chapter lightly. In fact, it took me almost three weeks to muster up the nerve to actually sit down and write it, even though I've had it all planned out for months. If I could rate this differently than the rest of the fic, I would probably rate it M just for disturbing elements; I don't describe anything in too much detail, but there are mentions of truly nasty stuff, and what makes it worse is that I'm not really making any of it up. So just...be forewarned. Also note that this follows the events of CoS completely (rare for me indeed), except that I'm bumping it up to the '40s rather than the '20s.**

**Timeline: Post-CoS AU**

**Theme 52: "I won't surrender"**

_For feathersnow, who is evil :P**  
**_

_At least Al's safe._ That was the thought that sustained him through three days of a miserable, halting train ride and then a cramped, lurching journey in the back of a truck. He tried to ignore the gnawing hunger, the press of so many bodies in such a small space, the stench of human waste, the aching in his legs as the space wouldn't even allow them to sit down. It wasn't so bad, he kept telling himself. He had endured worse at the hands of a dozen criminals. Besides, now they were finally being let out of the truck – he could stretch his legs at last, and breathe fresh air again. The sky was even blue.

And Alphonse and the seven Jews they had hidden in the walls of their house were safe. Edward had been arrested on suspicion only; they had stomped around the house a bit, but didn't try too hard to find the others. They had what they were looking for. As soon as a day or two had passed, Alphonse would carefully check that the coast was clear, and the eight of them would sneak out in the dead of night and make their way to Switzerland. Just as they'd planned.

Of course, Alphonse had always thought the plan included Edward escaping with them, but Edward had known all along that he would have to be the sacrifice. He wasn't sorry; it was Equivalent Trade. If his capture meant that the rest of them could go free, it was worth every minute of that torturous journey.

Women and children were screaming up ahead. He craned his neck to try to see why, but – much as he hated to admit it – he couldn't see a thing over the dark shoulders of the people in front of him. The line of prisoners shuffled forward while guards shoved stragglers through a heavy iron gate.

When he drew closer, he saw what the screaming was about. It seemed males and females were being separated, family members pushed aside forcefully when necessary. Mothers were screaming for their children, husbands were shouting for their wives, babies bawled in fear. Edward stumbled to the right with the rest of the men, more grateful than ever that their Jews hadn't been found. Five of them were a family.

The men filed into the first building they came to, and were ordered to strip. Though he didn't protest like some of the men were doing, he felt a faint stab of anxiety as he pulled off his rumpled shirt. One of the guards noticed his prosthetic limbs and leaned over to say something to another guard. As he stepped under a shower head and gasped at the shock of icy cold water that hit him in the face, he imagined he could feel their eyes on him. Examining the movements of the otherworldly automail, Winry's last gift to him. What were they going to do? Take it away? Leave him a cripple? Maybe they would kill him and melt down the high-quality steel for themselves. _Let them,_ he thought fiercely as he stepped away from the shower, all too aware of the mismatched sounds of his footsteps against the tiled floor. _I won't surrender._

They were taking away everyone's personal belongings, tossing them to the side carelessly. Edward was glad he hadn't tried to sneak the old family photo into his pocket like he'd been itching to do when he was arrested. They would have taken that too, and he didn't think he could stand the thought of his mother and Alphonse being crumpled by their dirty hands. Even if they weren't real. This way, he could keep them bright and clean and alive in his mind.

Without giving them anything to dry themselves off, the guards urged everyone forward, thrusting threadbare, colorless uniforms into their hands. Shivering all over, Edward hurried into his, noticing with much less annoyance than usual how the sleeves covered his hands almost completely. His hair hung in a sopping tangle down his back, soaking through the thin shirt. He tucked his arms against his body and shuffled forward with the rest of the crowd.

Outside once more, guards barked orders and sent the prisoners running to various barracks, which were identical except for the stark white number above each door. Edward shivered in the chill breeze that danced carelessly between the buildings, and stumbled forward, hoping he could just get inside before he froze to death.

"Wait!" barked a voice.

Edward stopped short, hardly daring to believe... "You – yes, you! Come here!"

The voice was addressing him. Edward turned slowly, forcing himself not to think, not to make the connection his mind was itching to leap to. A guard marched up to him – boots, uniform, pistol at his belt – _no, no, don't look at his face, don't don't don't..._

"Look at me, boy!" A firm hand grasped his chin and forced it up, and before he could close his eyes, he saw. Something in his chest clenched and then released with a silent sigh like a dying animal.

Sharp features, narrow dark eyes, messy black hair trailing from beneath his hat. The man who used to look down at him with a satisfied smirk as he teased him, whose gibes and self-important orders belied a palpable affection and familiarity born from years of working together, now stood in a Nazi uniform and gazed into his eyes with a cold inscrutability. Edward was falling, drowning, tumbling head-over-heels, groping wildly for something to hang onto as he sank into the abyss, but there was nothing.

For two seconds that felt like two years, they stared at each other. Then Mustang motioned to someone who hurried up and handed him a large pair of scissors. Still holding Edward's chin in one hand, Mustang unceremoniously chopped off the heavy, waterlogged hair hanging down Edward's back. Edward was dimly aware of the wet slap it made on the ground behind him, but he still couldn't tear his eyes away from that familiar face. He didn't move even when Mustang released him, and it took another guard's yelling and shoving to remind him where he was.

As he started to jog towards his assigned barrack with a clump of prisoners, he glanced over his shoulder once at Mustang. The man was still watching him with those cold, dark eyes.

The barracks were filled with narrow bunks stacked three on top of each other, two men assigned to each bunk. Edward wandered past bunks that had already filled up, eventually clambering onto a top bunk in the far corner. An old man – probably a rabbi – motioned him up and swatted away a few fleas before lying flat again. He was as thin as a rail, which Edward took to mean he had been here for some time. Edward nodded his thanks and sat with his legs dangling over the side, trying to process what had just happened.

He had known this could happen, didn't he? He had known that everyone in this world was a doppelganger of the people in his. He'd grown used to seeing the faces of old friends on strangers, hadn't he? He'd known these people didn't have the same souls as their counterparts; he'd lived for two years with a man who had proven again and again that he was a good man, but not his brother. He'd met the alternate version of King Bradley, who had proven to be a kind, gentle man. It only stood to reason that it could work the other way as well.

But...why did it have to be Mustang? Edward ran a hand through his newly-shorn hair. He had to accept that this man was not Roy Mustang, no matter how much they looked alike. He was just a Nazi. Just a cold-blooded killer, like the rest of them. _He will kill you, and he will enjoy it. Just keep your head down and stay alive. Al is safe, and that's all that matters. If you have to endure this so that he never will, that's a price worth paying._

He convinced himself he had accepted it, convinced himself he could cope. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he told himself it would be all right. When they were given a meal of watery soup and the hardest bread he had ever seen, he gave his share to the old man, who thanked him in surprise. Edward told himself he was just being generous to the poor man.

He almost believed it.

* * *

Days passed. He ate, he slept, he lived. Some people died. He tried not to think about it.

They stood outside in rows for hours upon hours while the guards called off numbers to make sure they were all accounted for. He didn't see why they bothered. They shot some on the spot most days, it seemed, and had several prisoners carry the bodies to the pit where all the dead prisoners went. Once Edward had to do it. He grabbed the heels of a boy younger than he was and hauled him off to land spread-eagled among the other rotting corpses. A thought of Alphonse flitted through his head, but then he drowned it out with _Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen..._

Sometimes clusters of prisoners would disappear into the building at the far end of the camp and never be seen again. Black smoke would fill the air, and thoughts of Ishbal would fill his mind. Even though he hadn't been there himself, he could imagine a State Alchemist standing on a hill, snapping his fingers... _Oxygen, fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon..._

People got sick, too. As Edward lay on his back at night, he would listen to the chorus of coughing; it became as soothing as the crickets that used to chirp outside his window in Risenpool. He wasn't too worried about getting sick, at least not yet. He had a fairly hefty immune system, after everything he'd been through growing up. No, he was more worried about the old man, Josef. He was tough; he'd been through a lot too. But it was plain to see that he didn't have much longer. Soon, he would fall ill, or one of the guards would decide it was time to send him on his way. Edward gave him his food whenever he could stand it, but most of the time he was too ravenous to part with his own paltry portion.

He tried not to look for Mustang, but whenever he saw one of the guards, he couldn't help scanning his face to see if it was him. Thankfully, Mustang didn't seem to come out for the inspections too often; Edward gathered that he was fairly high-ranking in the camp. _Just like Mustang, trying to push his way to the top..._ He caught himself thinking that one day as he watched the man disappear inside his own private office. _Chlorine, argon, potassium, calcium, scandium, titanium..._

And then it happened.

"Word is the Colonel wants you in his office." One of the men who slept beneath Edward and Josef was leaning against the opposite bunk, arms crossed and staring at him with hard eyes.

Slowly, Edward sat up. "Colonel Mustang...? What does he want with me?"

The man turned away, hunching his shoulders a little. "It's unofficial. Which means go now or you'll make him...unhappy." He left.

Edward swung his legs over the side and was about to drop down to the floor when Josef grabbed his arm. "Don't go!" he hissed, pushing himself up on one elbow. His eyes were hollow and haunted. "The Colonel, he... There are rumors."

"Rumors?"

Josef's face twisted in pain. "Young boys, like you...he calls them in to see him sometimes. He...likes the pretty ones, you see. They all disappear once he calls for them, but...we all know what he does to them first."

Edward felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He stared at Josef, hoping he had understood wrong, wishing wildly that he hadn't mastered German years ago. But the horror in Josef's eyes could only be interpreted one way. Edward sucked in a deep breath, feeling as though his lungs had deflated. "If I don't," he whispered, "he'll kill me. He'll find some excuse, won't he? It's...not good to make them angry."

Josef slowly released his arm, and sank back down on their bunk. "Make your choice. One way or another..." He trailed off and turned to face the wall. "Goodbye, Edward."

He wasn't quite sure why, but he ended up going. He trudged slowly between the barracks to Mustang's office towards the front of camp. He didn't think, he didn't feel. This was inevitable. Maybe it was punishment for every mistake he had made. Maybe he deserved this. Or maybe this all had no meaning, and there was no equivalent trade, and he was just here because the world was rotten to the core. _Vanadium, chromium, manganese, iron, cobalt, nickel..._

The door opened to his knock, and there he was. Roy Mustang, not a colonel of the Amestris Military, not the Flame Alchemist, not the Hero of Ishbal, not a superior, not a friend. Mustang glanced out the door, then closed and locked it while Edward stood numbly in the center of the room. He was shivering all over. _Copper, zinc, gallium, germanium, arsenic, selenium..._

"Are you Edward Elric?"

It hurt. It hurt so much. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then nodded curtly.

"Then your father is Hohenheim?"

Edward looked up in surprise at the eagerness in Mustang's voice. The man was looking intently into his eyes, and he wanted to curl up in a ball in the corner. "Yes," he whispered, unable to break eye contact.

"I knew it," Mustang breathed, and paced over to his desk. "You look just like him, but I thought it was too much of a coincidence to believe..." He spun back around, making Edward flinch. "Where is he? I've tried to contact him several times..."

"He's...dead." Edward almost forgot his fear in all the confusion. "You know him?"

"Yes, he's a good friend," Mustang said slowly, brow furrowed. "I'm sorry to hear of his passing...though I can't say I'm completely surprised; he always was too heroic for his own good." He thought for a moment, then shook his head and looked up. "But we need to get to business," he said briskly.

Edward immediately hugged himself and backed against the wall, but Mustang wasn't even looking at him anymore. He opened one of the drawers in his file cabinet and pulled out a ragged old satchel, then crossed the room and pushed it into Edward's arms. "Food, and warmer clothes. I've forged papers that will pass under brief scrutiny, but try to avoid any border patrols. Head west until you can see mountains; then you will be safe."

Edward's mind whirled, fear giving way to confusion. "Wait, you're...helping me...escape?" He whispered the last word, hardly daring to hope. Maybe he was misunderstanding again. Maybe this place had addled his mind and he couldn't understand German at all anymore.

"Yes, yes," Mustang said impatiently, peeking out between the heavy curtain at his window. "Now, at ten o'clock sharp, you will go to the fence and climb over, but you'll have to be fast. I've bribed one of the guards – he'd do anything for a smoke – but he can only guarantee me five minutes. Once you reach the top of the fence, jump down and run until you reach the trees. Don't stop for anything. In the forest, climb a tree and wait until you're sure you aren't being pursued, then head west."

In a daze, Edward looped the strap of the satchel over his shoulder and looked up at Mustang, who had turned from the window and was checking his watch. "This is what you did with the others, wasn't it?" he said, feeling warm all over. There was a horrible, wonderful pressure in his chest. "You pretended to...but actually you were..."

Mustang raised his eyes to Edward's once again, and it almost seemed like the old, familiar Mustang was back. The corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest, saddest smirk he had ever seen on that face. "I plan to reach the top position of this place, Edward Elric," he said with quiet confidence. "Once I do, there will be no more deaths. But until then...I will not stand by and watch children be slaughtered." He looked down at his watch again and immediately tensed. "It's time."

Mustang opened the door and checked to make sure the coast was clear, then nodded. Edward darted out into the darkness, running as stealthily as he could between the buildings towards the fence at the front of the camp. There were no guards about; at this time of night, they were probably playing cards and depending on the guards stationed in the watchtowers. One section of the fence was in complete darkness, with no sign of a guard on duty.

Edward clambered up the fence, feeling as light as a feather, and dropped down lightly on the other side. It was just like all those times he and Alphonse had sneaked into places they really shouldn't have. This was just another adventure, just another mission that jerk Mustang had assigned him. He was the Full Metal Alchemist, and he could do anything.

He ran faster than he ever had in his whole life, ignoring a sudden shout from a watchtower and a few hopeless bursts of gunfire as he dashed under the cover of the trees. He ran, with the image of Roy Mustang in a Nazi uniform flashing before his eyes, smirking down at him just as the other Roy Mustang always did. He ran towards Switzerland, towards his brother.

Towards freedom.


	53. Outcome of Fighting

**Author's Note: I've always wondered why Envy wouldn't change into Ed so that he could catch Mustang off guard like this. And I've wondered how well Envy _really_ knows the people he turns into, and how much attention he pays to their physical appearance, even after the mistake with Ross's mole. Anyway, I decided to write this short little continuation of the whole Envy-Ed-Mustang scenario.**

**Timeline: Several weeks after "Antipyretic"**

**Theme 53: Outcome (of fighting)**

****_For feathersnow, who insisted_

Roy was sure that nothing good had come of the battle against Envy. After all, it had left Edward with a severe burn down his side, and had left _him_ feeling distinctly foolish and guilty. They'd been set back several weeks, unable to make any progress while nursing Edward back to health. Not that he begrudged Edward any of that time – after all, everything was his own fault.

The only good outcome of fighting Envy became apparent one night when Roy walked back home after a long day in the office. Edward had been back in his customary hotel room for two weeks, and life had resumed some of its normalcy, but the paperwork had backed up while Edward recuperated at Roy's house, and he was still trying to catch up.

Yawning, Roy passed the alleyway next to his house, then stopped and did a double-take. "Full Metal?"

"Good, you're finally here," Edward said, hands in pockets, leaning against the wall. "I've been waiting for you for like an hour already, what gives?"

Roy grunted wearily and ran a hand over his face. "Overtime. Why were you waiting for me?"

Edward glanced in all directions, then said conspiratorially, "I've got something to tell you – something about the Homunculi."

Instantly wide awake, Roy took a step closer. "What is it?"

Edward nodded towards the shadows. "Further in."

The boy turned to step into the further privacy of the shadowy alleyway. Roy took another step to follow, but then stopped short. "Wait," he said warily. "How do I know you're not Envy?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "Come on, Colonel, do we really have to do this again? I don't think he'd be stupid enough to disguise himself as me twice in a row."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Take off your shirt."

Edward's face turned red, even in the dim light of the alleyway. "No _way_ am I taking off my clothes for you, you pervert."

Roy slipped his hand into his glove and poised his fingers to snap. "Now."

With an irritable huff, Edward yanked off his coat and jacket, throwing them to the side. "Look, if you wanted to assault me in a dark alley..." He began to pull his black undershirt off.

_Snap._

Edward slammed into the brick wall at the end of the alleyway with a scream as a blast of fire ate away at his flesh. He rolled to put them out, then looked up with streaming eyes. "Wh-What...the hell...? How could you...m-make the same mistake twice?"

Roy strode towards him confidently. "I made no mistake." He snapped again, sending Envy into another frenzy of screaming and writhing. This time, he regenerated, restoring his body to its usual bizarre form. Roy smirked.

After all, Edward Elric now had a very distinctive burn scar all down his left side. And though Envy had been very attentive to the twisted scars streaking out in all directions from his automail port on his shoulder, he hadn't taken into account this latest addition. The man who had put that scar there in the first place, who had spent long hours tending to damaged flesh and fretting over his own guilt, would never forget this distinguishing mark. It was a sign of a relationship that was often strained but always loyal.

"And now, Envy," Roy announced, preparing to snap once more, "you will die."

He let loose another burst of flames, but Envy transformed into a small lizard and scuttled out of the way just in time. Roy frantically snapped again and again, but Envy slipped through a crack in the wall and was soon gone. With a curse, Roy turned and left the alleyway. Oh well. At least now they were even.

He stopped for a moment and looked in the direction Envy had disappeared, heart still racing with adrenaline. Maybe he would just call Edward and make sure he was all right. Maybe he would pretend that he'd known Envy was a fake because he was too tall. Or maybe he would just enjoy hearing that voice so strong and healthy, and know that his mistake wasn't holding the boy back at all.


	54. Quick Mouth

**Author's Note: Kind of a weird one this time. When I first looked at the prompt, I thought to myself, "Oh great. Another one I'm going to have to make all light-hearted and humorous." So I desperately sought for a way to make it angsty instead, to make it easier for me and also less predictable in general. As always happens when I put myself in situations like this...it became rather unexpected by the end. Half-asleep brainstorming, looked at again the next morning, solidified into this. It's another chapter that's probably a bit too melodramatic, but I'd just ask that you think of how _you_ would feel if a very close friend went through an experience like this.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 54: Quick mouth**

Roy glared at his captors through the swollen slit of a black eye. The clothes they wore were nondescript, but their thick accents plainly identified them as Drachmans. "Ve-ar is de Furar's sekret bayse?" the man with the bushy black beard asked again, shaking Roy with each malformed Amestrian word.

But Roy just spat a mouthful of blood in his face. These Drachmans certainly underestimated a colonel of the Amestrian army if they thought he would break this easily. Should have realized he wasn't going to crack after a mere day of interrogation when he had held his ground for a good hour after the rest of his platoon fell.

The bearded man threw Roy to the ground in disgust, wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand and yelling in Drachman at his henchmen. Roy collapsed with a jangling of chains and closed his eyes, grateful for this momentary reprieve. He hadn't reached his breaking point – wasn't even close – but the constant interrogation was exhausting nevertheless. And he couldn't even pretend that he had no idea where the secret base was, because then he would be dead in five seconds flat. So he just had to endure until someone came to rescue him. He wouldn't let himself wonder what would happen if no one did.

But _oh,_ it would be hard to suppress his anger once he reported back to the Fuhrer. Surely they had spies enough to learn that Creta's unexpected military prowess was due to a secret alliance with Drachma. Surely they could have briefed him on the situation before he got everyone killed simply because they weren't expecting Drachman repeating rifles and cannons.

"May bee now you talk." The bearded man yanked him upright again, keeping a painful grip on Roy's hair.

Roy's eyes were still squeezed shut with pain and defiance when he heard a voice that turned all his insides to ice. "I'M NOT A TINY FLEA-BITTEN GRAIN OF SAND, YOU GIANT ABOMINABLE SNOWMEN! IF I HAD MY AUTOMAIL, YOU WOULDN'T BE LAUGHING SO HARD, YOU BARBARIANS! AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN CRETA ANYW- Mustang?"

Roy slowly opened his left eye, though his right eye was now refusing to obey him. Two of the Drachmans dragged in a familiar form, one burly man holding his legs and the other gripping his one arm. Where the automail had gone was anybody's guess, but it was obvious from the blood staining Edward's clothes and the injuries the Drachmans had sustained that he hadn't gone down easily.

"What are you doing here, Full Metal?" he asked blankly. The boy was supposed to be protecting the Fuhrer with Hawkeye and the others. _He _was the only one who should be in danger!

"Coming to save _you,_ of course," Edward snapped from across the room. His captors took advantage of his relative calm to force him into chains just like Roy's.

"By _yourself?_" Roy demanded incredulously. "You should've stayed back where it was safe – I can handle this!"

"Geez, you're _welcome._" Edward didn't seem to realize what a dangerous position he was in. The boy had never been tortured. True, he'd been in plenty of fights and had his share of serious injuries...but he'd never been seriously _tortured._ He wouldn't be able to withstand it. Roy wasn't sure he'd last himself.

"How very amuse," the bearded man said with a sinister smile. "But now to bizness."

Roy strained against the grip the man still had on his hair. "No – let him go! The boy doesn't know anything!"

"I tink we see for ourself." He clicked his fingers, and one of the men who had dragged Edward in began to beat him up and interrogate him in broken Amestrian, just as they had done to Roy. With every pained sound that escaped the boy's mouth, Roy flinched a little – which only made the sadistic man with the beard smile wider than ever.

But Edward didn't budge. He began to look like Roy's mirror image, but he didn't give anything away, didn't tell them anything at all. He was made of pretty stern stuff for a fifteen-year-old...but if Roy's hunch was correct, this was only the beginning.

It was.

"May bee my kuveshon not getting troo?" the bearded leader finally said as Edward groaned and tried to curl in on himself. "May bee you not understanding my vords? May bee I ree-mind you vat I vant."

He administered the torture himself. He called it refined, claimed he didn't like the way his subordinates treated prisoners. Starting with the index finger on Roy's right hand, the leader took a switchblade and began wedging it under the fingernail. Roy couldn't help it. He screamed, tears oozing from between the eyes he kept firmly shut. Somehow, he thought that if he actually saw what was happening, he _would_ break. But not a word passed his lips.

Finally the bearded man gave up. Roy sat limply against the wall, breathing hard and trying to ignore how his right hand throbbed. The man had worked at each finger, but even though he screamed and tried to pull away, he hadn't let anything of importance slip. Still, he refused to look at his hand now. He was already whimpering enough as it was. All through this torture, between his own screams and the Drachman's insistent questions, Roy had been dimly aware of Edward yelling obscenities at them all, calling them cowards for resorting to such barbaric means of finding information.

"I teenk little boy vants to talk, yes?" The leader calmly wiped his switchblade clean and turned to Edward, whose expression of fury settled into one of apprehension.

Fear shot through Roy's heart again. "No – don't – please!"

The leader turned back with a genial smile. "Sekret bayse?"

Roy clenched his teeth and glared into those tiny, dark, calculating eyes and shook his head. The leader shrugged his shoulders and slowly advanced on the boy. Edward pressed up hard against the wall, closing his one remaining hand into a tight fist. His eyes slid down from the approaching Drachman and connected with Roy's across the room. They were silently begging him, as if to say, _What do I do?_

His breath caught in his chest as the Drachman towered over the tiny, vulnerable boy. Pain and fear throbbed all around him, till he could hardly think at all. "Don't tell them anything!" he called desperately. "Don't you _dare_ say a word, do you hear me? They'll kill-"

A boot to the jaw shut him up, and for a few moments he could only concentrate on this new source of pain. The Drachman leader was yelling orders at his men, one of whom left momentarily and returned with a large basin filled to the brim with water. He set it down in front of the leader, who put away his knife and knelt down next to Edward.

"Now you talking, or you end like him." He jabbed his thumb at Roy, then without warning, grabbed Edward by the braid and shoved his head into the basin.

Roy struggled against the chains holding him down, as Edward struggled against the firm hold the Drachman had on his head. Finally Edward emerged again, gasping and choking, but before he had time to catch his breath, down he went again.

Again and again, Edward's head splashed into the basin and he struggled to break free of the Drachman's grip. Roy watched in horror – this might not be as painful as what they had done to him, but it was just as dangerous. Despite everything he knew, he almost wished Edward would just let loose the information the Drachmans wanted, just so it would all stop. But no matter how many times the leader shouted questions at Edward, no matter how many times he dunked the boy's head under the water, Edward said nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

The doctors had explained it all to him, talked about post-traumatic stress disorder and assured him there was no physical damage sustained, speaking optimistically of how _these things just take time_ and _it's no wonder, considering what he went through._ But somehow, even though he knew for a fact it was true, he just couldn't believe it until he saw for himself. But once he'd been sitting in Edward's hospital room for a while, there was no escaping it any longer.

Edward couldn't talk anymore.

Roy was so used to the boy's quick mouth, he wasn't sure how to act around him anymore. Normally, if they'd gotten into a situation like this together, Edward would tease him about how useless he was with thickly bandaged hands, and Roy would poke fun at his height, and as they bickered back and forth with increasingly raised voices, they would skirt around the hard subjects and somehow reassure each other that now everything would be all right.

But now Edward just sat there, not saying a word. It made all too much sense to Roy, after everything the Drachmans had put the boy through, but he still didn't know what to do with it. He tried making small talk, even made a half-hearted attempt at teasing the boy's height. Edward shot him an eloquent glare that could have curdled the milk he'd left untouched on his dinner tray, but that was the only response he got.

He left shortly after, unsettled.

As the weeks passed, Roy's body healed steadily. His cuts and bruises faded away, and even his wounded fingers began to heal. He had to take it a bit slow with the paperwork (not that he was about to complain), but other than that he could resume his normal life. But lingering in the back of his mind, every day without fail, was his concern over Edward.

What if he never spoke another word for the rest of his life? Alphonse, after living with him every day for his entire life, seemed to have a sort of sixth sense about what Edward wanted to say, and Edward would nod and grimace and snort to show that he agreed with his little brother's interpretation. But it just wasn't the same, somehow. It was so...quiet.

Long before Roy's hands were completely healed, Edward became restless and eager to continue his quest again. Roy could tell by the earnest look in his eyes that he was more than ready to get going, and Roy had no real reason to refuse him. So he sent the boys off again, hoping that Alphonse could continue to be Edward's mouthpiece, and hoping that at least Edward wouldn't decimate quite so many small villages if he couldn't yell at and offend people anymore.

But something bothered him. He wasn't sure what. Maybe it was just a lingering sense that something had been left unresolved, as though once again Edward was getting the raw end of the deal, after everything he'd endured already. Was this really how it was going to be for the rest of their lives?

He tried to make the best of it and not think about Edward's muteness, tried to treat him no differently than ever. After all, it was the least he could do to help. Maybe Edward didn't _want_ to talk, and all their attempts to get him to say something was only causing him more stress.

But then there came the day when Roy decided to walk home since he'd gotten his work done early and it was a pleasant evening. He turned a corner and saw the Elric brothers standing a short distance in front of him. Something about their posture made him duck back into the shadow of the building, waiting to make sure he wasn't intruding on something important.

Alphonse knelt in front of his brother, so he could look up into his face from the height his real body must be. They were looking earnestly into each other's eyes as though the rest of the world didn't exist. "Please, Brother...talk to me. _Say_ something. I'm so..._tired_ of this. I feel so...so alone and afraid. I miss you..."

Edward placed his hand on top of Alphonse's head and rubbed back and forth, almost like he was ruffling his little brother's hair. Some silent message passed between them as they gazed into each other's eyes, something inscrutable that only a brother could know. Edward rested his forehead against Alphonse's, and they remained like that for a long time.

Something slipped, shifted, and shattered.

And Roy found himself stepping forward, barely conscious of what he was doing until the brothers slowly broke apart, as if too weary to be embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "This is all my fault."

Edward looked up, his confused expression more articulate than any words.

"You came to rescue me," Roy replied, turning in shame to the blazing sun that sank below the clustered buildings in the west. "You were only trying to help, and because of that you're in this position now..." If only he had been more careful. If only he had realized sooner that the Cretan army was being backed up by a greater power. All because of his own weakness and carelessness, he was holding Edward back when he should be pushing the boy forward, lifting him up and helping him stand taller, reach higher, look to the heavens and his own bright future...

At first he thought the metal hand on his arm was Alphonse silently commiserating in the pain they both felt. But when he turned to look, it was Edward who let his hand slowly drop. He opened his mouth...Roy held his breath, hardly daring to hope...

A tiny squeak came out, the only result of the intense effort Roy could see in his eyes. There were no words, no more sound, but Roy saw what Edward meant to say, what he was dying to express but just _couldn't._

For Roy, it was more than enough.


	55. Diffused Reflection

**Author's Note: Okay, I'll admit it – this chapter was inspired by FFVII. That's never happened before, and probably won't happen again (I'm not particularly fond of that game), but the idea was fascinating enough that I decided to pursue it with such an interesting theme. Blame the psychology minor in me. I also took concepts from both versions of the FMA story, and even so, I'm not exactly sure it works. Apologies for a bit of innuendo.  
**

**Timeline: Midseries (after Xenotime)**

**Theme 55: Diffused reflection**

It was all thanks to Edward that they had found out in time. He had been doing a routine inspection of the civilian labs, complaining the whole while about cranky scientists and pointless tasks, when he had suddenly stopped dropping by the office every hour or two. When he finally returned, he slapped a sheaf of papers on top of the inventory Roy was filling out, and said flatly, "I noticed this lab's shipments were coming from Xenotime. Xenotime doesn't _have_ ore exports anymore. It has to be a cover-up for a shipment of the red water."

It took Roy a moment or two to process what the boy had said, but he saw the deadly serious cast of his face, the focused light burning in his eyes, and he stood without preamble. He didn't even need to glance over the shipping reports; he reached for his coat with one hand and the door with the other, and said simply, "Then let's go."

With a relieved expression, Edward hurried after him. There was no need for discussion or doubt; they both knew what this meant and why they needed to put a stop to it. They'd worked together long enough for that.

Soon enough, they stormed into the lab and pushed past the stunned scientists. "I am Colonel Roy Mustang!" he barked at the head scientist, who spluttered and demanded to know what they thought they were doing, panting as he tried to keep up with their hurried steps. "Where are you transmuting the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Wh-What is this? Preposterous...unfounded...of all the-"

Roy signaled, and in an instant the head scientist was staring down the barrel of Hawkeye's pistol. He gulped, then pointed at a door at the end of the hall.

"Falman," Roy said over his shoulder, already moving on. "Make sure this man doesn't go anywhere; we may need to take him in for questioning."

The door led to a stairwell, at the bottom of which was a heavy, locked door. Edward easily got rid of the lock, and Hawkeye and Havoc burst through, making sure it was safe before letting their superior walk in. It was a large room like a cross between a warehouse and a laboratory. A few scientists looked up in alarm from their beakers and microscopes, but there didn't appear to be any armed guards. It would have been obvious enough they were experimenting with red water from the dull crimson liquid in every beaker, crystallizing at the bottom just as Edward had described from his adventure in Xenotime.

But, just in case any of them still held any doubts as to what was going on here, two huge vats yawned before them, sinking deep into the floor of the basement, each one filled to the brim with that faintly glowing, deadly liquid said to be a prototype of the Philosopher's Stone. For a moment, none of them could move or speak, struck dumb by the sheer _amount _of it. Roy suspected that if he'd taken the time to inspect the records Edward had brought him, he would find that these 'ore shipments' had been going on for quite some time.

Before he could do anything about it, though, the door behind them banged open again and Falman stumbled through, staggering and dragging one leg behind him. Blood poured from it and trailed all the way back up the stairs he'd just stumbled down; it looked as though some ferocious animal had mauled him. Falman's tiny eyes met Roy's imploringly. "Sorry...sir..."

As Fury rushed forward to support his weight, the door, which had swung closed after Falman, burst open again. Three enormous, slavering chimeras leapt into the room – they looked like some unholy combination of goats, horses, and mountain lions. The scientists scattered, screaming, but the beasts seemed more intent on Roy and his men. Hawkeye immediately started firing, felling one right as it was about to leap on top of her. Edward transmuted a fist out of the floor that barrelled straight into the second chimera's face, sending it skidding back across the floor. But even though Havoc and Breda fired at the third, it simply bounded straight towards Roy, dodging past their hasty shots. Cursing, Roy stumbled back, fumbling with his glove and trying to keep a safe distance between them until he could get a spark going.

But even as several bullets found their mark and the chimera fell to the ground, Roy took a step back and his foot found no more resistance. He was dimly aware of a splash and a falling sensation, briefly noticed the looks of shock and horror on his subordinates' faces, before the world plunged into a red chaos.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Every muscle blazed with fire, every bone boiled and shriveled. Then his body split in two and one half stepped in front of him, a crimson reflection that looked back with the same confused horror he felt. The mirror shattered, and for a moment he saw a thousand miniature Roys sparkling and falling. They turned into vapor, his diffused reflection lingering a moment before fading away completely.

Then he knew nothing.

* * *

"Any change?" Edward asked numbly as he walked into the hospital room.

Hawkeye, who looked even more frazzled and exhausted than the last time they'd visited, looked up bleakly and shook her head.

The Elric brothers tiptoed into the room, even though there was no need to be quiet. Mustang wasn't waking up anyway. Edward dropped into a chair while Alphonse began encouraging Hawkeye to go home, assuring her they would sit with Mustang and call her if there were any developments. But Edward just stared at his commanding officer, still not quite able to believe what had happened.

Mustang lay on the bed, hooked up to an IV and looking for all the world as though he were just asleep. But no matter what anyone did or said, he refused to wake up. Edward had known it would be bad when they first fished him out of the tank of red water; he knew how the red water and its fumes had affected the residents of Xenotime. But somehow he hadn't been expecting a coma. The doctors couldn't explain it, and all of his own alchemic knowledge didn't offer a completely conclusive explanation either. All he knew was that Mustang's real problem was deeper than the skin. The red water wasn't the real Stone, and didn't contain a torrent of souls, but the effects were similar.

Finally Hawkeye left, and Alphonse lowered himself gingerly into the chair she had vacated. "Are you sure about this, Brother?"

Edward sighed and ran a hand over his face. "No, but it's the only choice we've got. I have to do _something._ I can't just sit around and wait for him to wake up."

Alphonse hesitated, looking for a moment as though he would protest further, but then he heaved himself to his feet. "Okay. I'll make sure no one comes in."

He left the room and closed the door softly after him, leaving Edward alone with his eerily silent superior. He took a moment to compose himself and fix in his mind the concept that he was a Philosopher's Stone made of one soul. Then he clapped and placed both hands on Mustang's chest.

When he opened his eyes, everything was black and silent. He looked around, a little surprised. He'd never done this before, but somehow he'd thought the inside of someone's psyche would be a little more...interesting. "Mustang...?" he called experimentally, his voice echoing in the emptiness.

"Elric? What are you doing here?"

Edward whirled around, and saw Mustang standing right behind him. He quickly overcame his surprise and fell back to his usual manner of conversing with the man. "There you are! I've come to wake you up, of course. Sheesh, old man, who said you could take a nap?"

"Unfortunately, it's not as easy as all that," Mustang said. "You'll have to find the others and somehow bring us back together. The body can't wake without the mind intact; you should know this, Elric."

"Wait. What others?"

Mustang met his eyes, and for the first time Edward realized that something was...off. He stood ramrod-straight, the same exemplary military officer he'd always been, his boots shined and not a single crease in his uniform. But there was something wrong about his eyes. "The red water did something to us, and now we can't get back together again. Normally I try to keep them as far away as possible; their very natures have the tendency to jeopardize my goals. But in the past few days, I've come to understand that I will never reach my goals unless we can become one again. It's unfortunate, but I will help you bring us back together."

Edward wasn't quite sure he understood, but he nodded and said, "Where are they?"

Mustang pointed, and after he squinted for a while, Edward thought he could make out another form against the darkness. The two set off towards it, their footsteps not making a sound. As they came nearer, Edward saw that the form was someone sprawled on the ground, legs crossed and arms tucked under his head. When he stood over the man, Edward saw that this was another Mustang – though this one looked a bit younger, maybe. He was barefoot and his dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a chest that was _much_ more muscly and toned than the real Mustang.

When he looked up and saw who approached him, the other Mustang gave an odd, lopsided smirk that was somehow different from the smirks Edward was used to seeing on that face. He sprang lightly to his feet and stood before them, hands in pockets as he leaned against the nothingness behind him. "Oh good, it's Elric," he said, smirking down at Edward. "I've been _dying_ to get out of here – there's some hot nurses in that hospital, aren't there? I need to get _laid._"

Edward felt his face growing hotter and hotter as this Mustang started chattering away about past conquests, enumerating various qualities of female anatomy that he particularly liked...

"Quiet," the cold Mustang said quellingly, and the lustful Mustang stopped immediately, though he looked sulky. "You're distracting Elric from the task at hand. If you want to get out of here, we need to go that way." He pointed in a different direction, towards another vague form.

Edward set off quickly towards the next figure, trying not to think too hard about whether Mustang really thought like...like _that._ He didn't want to know, didn't need to find out what kind of things passed through the man's head, even if some other part of his mind managed to suppress them.

The third Mustang was also wearing a military uniform, but it was crumpled and stained. He hunched down on the ground, rocking back and forth and holding his head in his hands. When they approached, he looked up suddenly like a frightened animal and whimpered, hiding his face again.

Edward stood, looking down at this new Mustang in confusion. The other two renditions he could understand to a certain extent, but he couldn't connect this man with the Mustang he knew.

The cold Mustang spoke up impatiently. "Get up. Elric is going to help us reunite."

Slowly, the frightened Mustang looked up, and a crazy grin slid across his face. "Elric? Reunite? Together." An insane giggle escaped him, and he slowly stood to face them. "It'll never happen – never! Don't you see?" He laughed harder and harder, till he was actually screaming. Eventually he ended up in a crouch again, trembling and rocking back and forth. "We're too...too fragmented. Each of us is such a mess, we'll never be able to get back together. It's a wonder we were ever able to remain a cohesive whole. Might as well...just give up now."

He started giggling again, his eyes wide with terror. "You see...it's punishment. Punishment for everything I've done, everything you've ever thought or said. There's no...no escape...never..."

"Oh, stop complaining," Edward huffed, dragging the insane Mustang to his feet. "Don't give up until you're sure there's no chance left. You weren't _that_ bad when you were all together. Come on, we'll figure it out together."

He looked to the cold Mustang to point the way, and they set off again through the dark abyss. The lustful Mustang started chattering cheerfully again, but the cold Mustang seemed able to keep him in check, making him shut up when his comments started going too far. He also slapped the insane Mustang over the head whenever he started giggling again. Edward was beginning to realize that the cold Mustang was the only thing keeping all the parts together. How had he never realized how fragile the man was?

At first the fourth Mustang looked just like the insane one. But as they got closer, Edward realized that this Mustang was a child, hugging his knees to his chest, hiding his face behind them. The only way he could be sure it was Mustang was from the wild black hair. "Well, this is the last one," the cold Mustang said when they all stood over the child, who raised his head just enough to see who it was before sinking back behind his knees. "As you can see, we're at a loss as to how we can combine once more."

Edward looked around, hoping some idea would just occur to him out of the blue. Here they all were, all the different pieces that made Mustang into the man Edward knew so well. But how could they all combine seamlessly into one?

"We're gonna stay like this forever, aren't we?" The child's voice was so different from Mustang's usual baritone that it came as a small shock to Edward, even though he should have known such a voice would come from a child. "I don't wanna stay here. It's too lonely. Even though the others are...well, I never had many friends. Being whole is like having friends. But I think I like it better when I have outside friends like you, Elric."

Edward looked around helplessly. Here were all the facets of Roy Mustang, all of which he could vaguely see contributing to his superior, but...there was something missing, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He looked around at them all, at their eyes so...empty of..._something._

Then it hit him, and he began to speak before he'd figured out how to put it into words. "You've all been calling me Elric. But Mustang always calls me Full Metal."

They all looked up at him at the same moment, the child even raising his head from his knees. Identical looks of shock and wonder, even a kind of epiphany, were in every set of dark eyes. They took in a collective, astonished breath and said in one voice, "Full Metal...?"

Edward opened his eyes, not realizing that they had been closed. He found himself sitting in a chair by Mustang's hospital bed, his head resting on Mustang's stomach and one hand still lingering over his chest where his heart beat steadily away. Early morning sunlight fell in faint bands across the bed, making him wonder how long this had actually taken. Then he raised his eyes to Mustang's face, and his breath caught.

Mustang was looking back at him.

For several long moments, they only stared into each other's eyes, acutely aware of how deeply Edward had seen into his soul. Edward wondered if he had been as open and obvious to Mustang in return. But he worried more that all the pieces of Mustang might not have integrated completely. What if one of them was too far to the forefront, and he was irrevocably imbalanced?

But then Mustang smiled a genuine smile, his eyes lighting with a warmth that had been completely lacking in any of his facets that Edward had just met. "Thank you, Full Metal."

When Alphonse finally stepped back into the room after six hours of dead silence, he found Edward resting his head on Mustang's stomach in exhausted slumber. Mustang looked just the same as ever, but one hand rested comfortingly on Edward's head.


	56. No Speaking

**Author's Note: I was originally intending to include this in "Quick mouth," to really round it out and give it a fitting conclusion. But then I noticed this theme, and knew that I had to make it be separate. Most of this came from trying to think of the logical continuation of what happened in that chapter.**

**Timeline: After "Quick mouth"**

**Theme 56: No speaking**

Roy did everything he could to overcome the psychological effects of his torture. He went to the recommended therapist every week, did his homework, tried his hardest to work through all the issues and help his mind heal as his body did. His wounds healed soon enough, and even though his hand took longer (not that he was complaining; it provided an excellent excuse not to do paperwork), he knew that it would take quite some time before he would stop waking up in the middle of the night screaming.

But he was relentless and determined, following his therapist's advice as closely as possible. He realized, while discussing his progress with his therapist one day, that the main reason he felt so hard-pressed to get better was that he had no _right_ to suffer when Edward had it so much worse. He didn't tell his therapist, of course – the man would probably try to dissuade him of this notion, but he didn't understand. It was _true._

Even after all outward signs of the beating the Drachmans had given Edward had faded away, the boy was still indelibly marked by what he'd gone through. He still hadn't spoken a word, no matter how much time passed nor how much he seemed like his old self. His written reports grew more colorful than ever, as if to make up for his inability to rant verbally when he came in to see his superior. He had a tendency to kick and throw the sofa cushions around the room when Roy teased him. He still shared an implicit understanding with his brother that didn't seem damaged in the slightest by its complete silence.

But everyone knew Edward was suffering. He'd tried going to several of the most skilled speech therapists in Central, but none of them seemed able to help him. All of his friends had urged him, in every way they knew how, to say something, _anything._ The boy had to know how much his silence was hurting them all, and even though they hurt for his sake, Roy knew Edward enough to know that he would take it as an accusation. It wasn't that Edward wasn't trying. There was just something blocking him in his mind that wouldn't go away. At least not yet.

Finally Roy managed to convey to all of the boy's closest friends that they ought to just leave him be; there wasn't anything they could do, and telling him over and over again how much they missed his voice would only put more pressure on him. When he was ready, he would talk, and if that time never came...so be it.

He tried not to feel like he was giving up.

Fall turned into winter, and Roy's condition continued to improve. Even as he pushed himself and noticed how much brighter the world looked, he felt guilty. Now it seemed unfair that he was returning to a normal life and abandoning Edward when it had been his fault in the first place. Everything culminated in an evening where he ended up sobbing on Lieutenant Hawkeye's shoulder in his car, followed by a trip back to the clinic. After another long session with his therapist, and a long night's sleep completely free of nightmares, he felt like the dark grip of his torment might finally be lifting.

He still felt guilty.

* * *

When it had been nearly six months since Roy's subordinates had rescued them from the Drachmans, the Hugheses invited Roy and the Elric brothers to join them in the cabin they usually rented for a couple of weeks in the winter. Roy immediately agreed, and the boys weren't about to complain either. This had been a hard year for all of them; everyone deserved a chance to just relax and forget all about their troubles for a bit. Roy was also glad to give Hawkeye a break from having to take care of him; she'd been by his side the whole way – driving him to his appointments, making sure he was eating enough, even staying with him all night to help him sleep a few times.

Roy drove the boys to the little town of Grayford, about fifty miles to the north of Central. Edward sat in the front as usual, and even though it was a much quieter drive than normal, the atmosphere was comfortable and happy. Though he didn't burst into long tirades or shake the car so that it threatened to swerve off the road, Edward still squirmed with fury as Roy teased him. Alphonse's tinny laughter and cheerful comments echoed from the back seat. The snowy hills rolled past, and for once everything seemed like it might be all right.

They stopped briefly in Grayford for the supplies Hughes had told them to get, then drove out to the forested hills surrounding the town. The little cabin where they would be staying was one of five or six dotted about the nearby hills. All of this land belonged to a farmer who lived in a big clapboard house at the edge of several cleared fields that were bare and filled with broken stubble at this time of year. Halfway between the farmhouse and the Hugheses' cabin stood a large barn with chickens pecking hopefully at the cold dirt outside.

The rustic scenery seemed to revive the boys; Roy reminded himself that they used to live outside a little town as well. He pulled up next to Hugheses' car and started unloading their baggage as Hughes came out to help. What looked like a fuzzball with arms, legs, and pigtails came barreling out towards them, latching onto Edward's hand immediately. "We get ta sleep in the _loft!_" Elysia squealed, tugging on two of Edward's fingers. "C'mon, Big Brothers!"

Edward let himself be dragged off, grinning down at her. Roy had to admit, she _was_ rather cute in her fuzzy pink coat and hat. But Hughes was getting that goopy fatherly look in his eyes, so Roy quickly shoved several heavy bags in his hands to distract him.

Roy couldn't remember when he'd had a more enjoyable time. All the trouble of Central and their usual worries seemed far behind them now. Gracia cooked up a delicious meal, and then they sat around the fireplace roasting marshmallows while Hughes regaled them all with tales of his academy days with Roy. It didn't matter that Roy didn't remember half of the things Hughes claimed they'd done or said; Alphonse's armor rang with laughter and Edward shook helplessly with silent mirth. Roy went to bed up in the loft with the boys and Elysia, and fell asleep to the sound of Edward's soft, even breathing.

* * *

The next morning, after a large breakfast and several cups of coffee, Roy and the Elric brothers took Elysia to explore the area, so as to give Hughes and Gracia some alone time. Elysia, bundled up again in her pink coat, clung to Edward and Alphonse's pinkies, walking between them and squealing with delight whenever they swung her over a particularly large drift of snow. She still seemed a bit shy of Roy; he reminded himself to drop by more often.

They stopped by the barn, where Alphonse immediately bent down and scooped up a little black kitten. It purred in his large hands, and he held it out so Elysia could pet it too. Edward rolled his eyes and gave his brother a meaningful look, but Alphonse gave him the cheekiest look a suit of armor could manage.

Elysia insisted on carrying the kitten with them as they strolled over to the pond, which had iced over. It created a frigidly picturesque view: rolling hills of untouched snow stretching beyond the pine trees that crept almost to the edge of the frozen pond. They stood admiring the scenery for a moment, their breath curling through the air around them.

When Elysia bent over the edge of the pond to look for her reflection, the kitten squirmed from her arms and dropped down onto the pond. It slipped and slid as it tried to scamper away, then fell on its rump in the middle of the pond and promptly started licking itself all over.

"Kitty!" Elysia wailed, but Alphonse grabbed her shoulder before she could run out onto the ice.

"Wait, Elysia! It's dangerous!" He reached out as far as he could and called to the kitten, "Here kitty kitty kitty!" But the kitten just looked up, gave a tiny mew, and went back to its business.

Elysia's lower lip began to tremble, and Roy knew a moment's apprehension before she burst into tears. "B-But Kitty's gonna be stuck out there forever! It n-needs ta go back t-ta its Mommy!"

If there was one thing Roy had never been able to stand, it was a child crying its heart out like this. Heaving a sigh, he said, "All right, fine, I'll go get it."

"But Colonel, we don't know how thick the ice is!"

"I'll be careful," Roy said, beginning to inch out onto the surface of the pond. "Besides, I'm probably lighter than you are."

"That's not what I meant..." Alphonse muttered, but Roy was already three feet from shore.

Roy stepped carefully, testing the ice at each step before slowly putting his weight on it. The black kitten just watched him approach, tail flicking. Finally he came within reach of it and leaned forward, slowly reaching out both hands to grab the kitten. Just then, he heard an ominous _crack_ and froze, watching the ice split apart beneath his feet. With an angry yowl, the kitten leapt nimbly over the breaking ice and scampered to the shore, where Elysia scooped it back into her arms.

Roy frantically tried to step back, away from the splintering ice, but his movement only made the thin ice collapse beneath his feet. Before his head went under, he heard a voice he couldn't place screaming from the shore, "No, you idiot, look out!"

He plunged under the freezing water, all of his breath immediately stolen from his lungs. It was like being in a lake of fire. He couldn't see, couldn't tell which way was up; he flailed his arms around frantically, trying to find something to grab onto, but there was only water. He knew he shouldn't panic, but he couldn't help it; the pond was much deeper than he'd expected, and his heavy coat was pulling him inexorably down.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and tugged him upwards, but he could tell that he was too heavy. The hand let go, and Roy desperately groped for it again, panicking at the thought of being left to drown. But the hand came back a moment later, and he felt a surge of energy as his coat completely unraveled and slipped away. The hand grabbed his shoulder and heaved, and Roy found himself surging upwards again.

His head broke out of the water and he gasped for air, even though his lungs didn't seem able to work. He gasped and coughed as Edward half-dragged, half-carried him along a path of thick ice he'd transmuted from the shore. Once they'd reached safety, Edward pushed him away. "What were you _thinking?_" he exploded. "You could've _drowned,_ and all for some stupid cat!"

Roy, shivering violently, gaped at the short boy dripping all over and glaring up at him. "Ed..." he gasped, his teeth chattering so much he could barely speak. "Since when do you _talk?_"

Edward looked pleased, embarrassed, and angry all at the same time. "Since when are you an idiot?" His voice trembled with the cold as well. "I mean, more than usual."

Roy laughed for sheer joy, his voice sounding weird and tremulous because of how much he was shivering. He knew that Edward had developed something of a phobia of water ever since his torture, so to jump into the pond to save him had to have taken every ounce of his courage. And his _voice._ It was rough and hoarse after not being used for so long, but it was _his._ It was the Edward he'd thought was gone forever.

"Brother...?" Alphonse murmured from where he knelt by Elysia, who was still sniffling and gazing wide-eyed up at them all.

Edward turned and smiled rather sheepishly at him. Alphonse brightened instantly, putting Elysia onto his shoulders and getting to his feet. "I'll run ahead and tell Mr. and Mrs. Hughes what happened," he announced. "I'll make sure they've got blankets and hot chocolate ready for you." He set off at a gentle trot, his feet surprisingly light in the deep snowdrifts.

The others set off at a slower pace, trudging up the hill in their waterlogged clothes. After a moment, Roy pulled Edward against his side as they walked.

"Wha-" Edward immediately tried to pull away.

A thrill ran down his spine every time he heard the boy speak. He still couldn't believe this was real. "Relax, kid. We need to conserve all the body heat we can till we get back inside. I don't like to think what all that water did to your automail."

After a moment's hesitation, Edward wrapped his arm around Roy's waist and they trudged on. An awkward silence fell between them, then they both started to talk at once.

"I'm-"

"If you-"

They both stopped and glanced at each other. "You first," Edward mumbled.

Roy smiled fondly down at him. "Kid, I've been waiting and hoping you'd talk for months. Now that you are, I think I can shut up long enough to listen."

"Uh...yeah." Edward was almost acting shy, which Roy supposed made sense after all that had happened. "I just...wanted to say that I'm sorry. For making you worry and stuff. I didn't want it to take this long; I know it was hard on you and everyone else."

Roy smiled as the cabin came into view and Hughes hurried out to help them inside. "Don't worry about it, Ed. We all just want to make sure you're all right again. I was more concerned with thanking you for saving my life."

"Done the same thing for me," Edward mumbled before Hughes rushed up and gave him a bone-crushing hug disguised as wrapping him up in a huge blanket.

He supposed he had, as he was ushered to the fire and given a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Somehow, no matter how many times his therapist had tried to get him to see the same thing, it all rang false. But now that Edward had said it, in his own faltering way, he felt the horrible weight of guilt lift at last.


	57. Haircut

**Author's Note: Whenever I get a mundane prompt that immediately makes me think of something light and cheerful and probably including a lame attempt at humor, I do a bit of mental flailing until I can think of something more sober and _out there_ that I can do instead. I'm hopeless, aren't I? Happy-ish prompts scare me. And it's been a long time since I wrote that one chapter about them fighting in Drachma, so I thought it was high time to revisit that scenario. I still want to touch on it a few more times in this fic, eventually. Inspiration for what they do at the end of this chapter comes from reading various historical fiction in grade school, most notably in this case _Rifles for Watie._**

**Timeline: Some months after "We are equals on this ground"**

**Theme 57: Haircut**

The hotel room was weird. Obscenely pristine. Edward was afraid to sit down anywhere or touch anything, even after a long shower, for fear of dirtying the place up. He knew in his head that this wasn't the fanciest hotel he'd ever been in (and he'd had a good sampling of all the hotels in the country from his wandering days), but this room was the best the small northern town could offer the returning soldiers. Even so, the officers had to double up so they could all fit in the hotel while their men pitched their tents in the surrounding fields.

Edward looked at the bed with the fluffy pillows and wished he could be out there with them in the bitter February cold. Instead, he did the next best thing and stood by the window, staring out over the cheery lights of the town whose name he couldn't even remember, and thought of how his men would protest if he showed up in their camp. They looked at him with admiration these days, showed him an incongruous deference even though they were all older than him, and were shaping up to be a team as loyal as Mustang's.

As if the thought of him summoned the man, Mustang emerged from the steamy bathroom, wearing one of the hotel's fluffy white bathrobes and rubbing his hair dry. They hadn't been this clean in _weeks._ Mustang looked all funny and pink.

They stopped a moment and looked at each other. Finally Mustang lowered his towel, revealing a shaggy mop of black hair, and said, "You need a shave."

"You need a haircut," Edward retorted.

For the first time in a long, long while, they shared a small, genuine smile. They felt old, and stained, and tired beyond belief. But they were alive. That wasn't always a comfort, but in this moment they let themselves believe it was.

After months of sharing a tent on the front lines, there was no embarrassment as they both got into bed. Many nights on the cold slopes of the Briggs mountains, in the hills and hollows of the Drachman countryside, they had laid back-to-back under the same blanket, their combined body heat the only thing that kept them alive. Now there was no danger of frostbite or pneumonia, not in the mild winter of northern Amestris, but they were not important enough to get a two-bed room. Even if they had been, it would have felt strange to sleep so far apart. Edward had grown used to the solid comfort of a grown man's back behind him, and the security of knowing there was no chance of being knifed in his sleep.

But though Mustang's back was as warm and sturdy and comforting as always, and though the long march through the mountain pass to reach this town had exhausted him, he found it impossible to fall asleep. Finally he gave up and, feeling ashamed of himself, slipped from between the heavy comforter and dropped to the carpeted floor. There was hardly any room left after the enormous bed, but he managed to find a space between the foot of the bed and the dresser where he could stretch out. It still felt weird without stones and tree roots sticking in his back, but at least it was better than sinking into clouds of bedding until he was sure he would drown.

It felt ungrateful to do this. Wasteful. The men had been talking of nothing but warm showers and soft beds the entire journey back, when they weren't talking about their mothers and sweethearts. Shouldn't this room be given to someone who could actually appreciate it more than a wretched teenager who had never known what he was getting himself into?

Another problem with so much cloth and padding all over this room was that he couldn't hear anyone approaching. He had no idea Mustang had even got out of bed until he felt one of the extra blankets draped carefully over him. It was an odd sensation, one that stirred ancient, cold memories in his heart even though he was sure he'd never felt it before. There was a certain delicacy to Mustang's movements, as though he were balancing the final two cards on a castle, but at the same time he moved with the surety of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Strength and care.

Mustang lowered himself down next to Edward with a blanket of his own, and Edward discovered that he couldn't seem to move. There was a curious weight on his chest, like someone resting an enormous, warm hand on his chest, accompanied by a soothing voice that rumbled next to his ear, telling him everything was fine, go back to sleep, I'm here, you're safe now...

Moments before he drifted off to sleep, Edward remembered who had made him feel like this before, long ago: Hohenheim.


	58. Difference

**Author's Note: I blame this chapter on Sevlow's fic "Primal Instincts" (which she REALLY NEEDS TO FINISH BECAUSE I'M DYING HERE!), and a little bit on the movie Ginger Snaps. Reading Sevlow is horrible for this fic, because she always makes me want to do awful things to them to make them squirm! T_T Apologies for a bit of gore description, implausibility, and pseudoscientific babble from an English major.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 58: Difference**

****_For DarkKittehKat, who has wonderful timing_

Edward slouched along behind Dr. Thurber, wondering why he'd ever thought this was a good idea. Alphonse had been skeptical, which was why he hadn't come along, and as ever Edward realized his little brother was right when it was already too late to do anything about it. He'd demanded that Thurber show him everything they were doing in his little private lab, and now he had to put up with the tour till the end.

Tuning out Thurber's excited stream of chatter explaining the minute details of his genetic modification techniques, Edward examined the caged animals they passed. Thurber claimed they weren't chimeras, because they weren't alchemically merged, but Edward didn't see any difference. So what if the genes of a one species were spliced into the chromosomes of a completely different species? The end result was all too similar to the horrific chimeras Edward had faced over the years. This lab was reminding him of Tucker's malformed creatures in his basement. Reminding him of Nina.

Thurber's assistant, who had been following them silently with a clipboard in hand, almost ran into Edward when he stopped abruptly. She apologized softly, stepping back and adjusting her glasses, but Edward barely heard her. His attention was arrested by one of the chimeras that looked like a squat bird, except that instead of feathers it was coated with reddish fur. Its beak pulled back farther than should be humanly possible, making room for enormous carnivorous teeth. But what drew Edward's gaze wasn't just how bizarre it looked.

The bird-thing was trying to eat itself. That was the only explanation Edward could think of. It was gnawing at its own stomach, lapping up its own blood, whimpering and moaning in intense pain all the while. But it didn't seem able to stop. It was as though two warring instincts battled against each other...and the battle would cost the creature its life.

Suddenly Thurber was at his side again, looming over his shoulder. He smelled like horseradish under the mint gum he was chewing noisily. "Lovely, isn't it? Wouldn't it be _fascinating_ to know what thoughts are running through this creature's head as it rips itself to pieces? Unfortunately, of course, we can't exactly conduct an interview. But wouldn't it further scientific knowledge _so_ much if we could?"

"Well, yeah," Edward mumbled, unnerved. "I mean, I guess so. But that would be imposs-"

Before he had a chance to turn around, he felt a sudden jab of pain in his neck. Whirling around in alarm, he saw Thurber holding up a hypodermic needle triumphantly. "What did you do?" Edward demanded, backing up and clapping a hand to the spot where the needle had penetrated. "What did you give me?"

The assistant's clipboard clattered to the floor as she backed away from them both in horror. Thurber just laughed.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Alphonse asked carefully when Edward stomped back into their room. They'd had a bit of an argument when Edward had gotten wind of this experimental lab and decided to check it out. They hadn't found a new lead in weeks, and Alphonse knew that Edward was leaping at every possibility in case it led somewhere. But he had no desire to examine any more chimeras, especially not when chimeras had precious little to do with the Philosopher's Stone or getting their bodies back. What did Edward expect to find anyway?

Apparently the lab had yielded no results. Edward snapped, "Don't say 'I told you so,' all right? You don't have to rub it in!"

"I...wasn't," Alphonse said, surprised at how angry his brother was. There was some intangible _difference_ about him this time. Something _really_ bad must have happened in that lab. Maybe the head scientist had called him short.

Edward, who had been about to flop onto his bed, whirled around and glared at his brother. "Yeah you were! You _always_ rub it in! You just have to be right all the time, don't you?"

"What's your problem, Brother?"

"Problem? _I_ don't have a problem, it's the whole rest of the world that's got a problem!" He kicked the bedside table between their beds, knocking the lamp off.

Alphonse squinted suspiciously at his brother. "Is this one of those mood swings teenagers are supposed to have?" It was generally hard to tell, since Edward was in a bad mood 75 percent of the time. But as Alphonse looked closer, he realized with alarm that Edward didn't look as healthy as he had when he'd left. His eyes were bloodshot, the pupils dilated so only a narrow rim of gold could be seen. He was also sweating profusely, and his left hand was trembling slightly. "Brother...are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Edward snapped, turning around in a huff. As his braid flipped out of the way, Alphonse saw something that made him shoot to his feet and grab Edward by the shoulders.

"Get your hands off me!"

Ignoring him, Alphonse pushed down the red hood bunched around his neck and stared at a red spot the size of a 100-cenz coin on the side of his neck, a tiny dot of clotted blood in the very center. The red stretched up the large veins in Edward's neck, which Alphonse realized with alarm were _much_ more visible than usual.

Edward roughly shook himself free, now looking almost frightened himself. "Let go of me," he croaked in a hoarse voice.

Suddenly a convulsion shook his entire body. Alphonse reached out to him again. "Brother, what..."

Edward clutched his throat as if choking, dilated eyes wide with fear. "S-Stay back! Don't come near me!" He darted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and locking it before Alphonse could move.

Hovering nervously outside the bathroom, Alphonse heard his brother hit the floor. Familiar tiny whimpers and gasps of pain echoed around the bathroom; Alphonse was far too familiar with these sounds, since he heard them every time Edward got his automail replaced. But soon Edward was moaning with pain, and if the thumps and rustles were any indication, he was writhing around on the floor too.

"Brother...?"

Edward moaned louder, something that could have been 'no' or 'go', he couldn't be sure. Whatever he was trying to say, it was interrupted by a sharp cry of pain and harsh, dry sobs.

Alphonse slowly backed up. He needed to get help. He had no idea what was going on, but his brother was in _pain._ He had to help him. Tearing himself away from the door behind which Edward was obviously in agony, Alphonse threw open the door and raced down the hallway, stumbling down the stairs and rushing over to the telephone in the lobby.

The three rings could have been three hours. All he could think about was his brother writhing around on the bath rug. Finally there was a click and a familiar, measured voice said, "Roy Mustang speaking."

"Please, Colonel, you have to come really fast!" The words exploded out of him, tumbling over each other in their hurry to speed through the telephone lines to the one man he could think of to help them. "My brother's hurting really bad, I think someone injected him with something, I don't know what to do, he won't tell me what happened but I think he's in a lot of pain and I don't know what to _do,_ so you have to come right away-"

"Alphonse, calm down."

Alphonse clung to the quiet authority in Mustang's voice. There was something inherently comforting in knowing that there was an adult around. Surely, the colonel would know what to do.

"Now, I want you to stay with your brother, all right? Keep him as comfortable as possible, and we'll be there as soon as we can. Ten minutes at most. You can do that for me, right? Okay, I'm hanging up now."

Alphonse felt a bit calmer knowing that several capable adults who were far more experienced, and who all cared about Edward, were on their way. But he still took the stairs two at a time when he hurried back upstairs to their room. He stopped short when he came to the end of the hallway, and for a moment all he could do was stare at their door, which was hanging precariously by one hinge.

Hardly daring to guess what he might find, Alphonse slowly stepped over the threshold and stared at the bathroom. The door lay flat on the floor, dented in a little in the middle, the inside covered with numerous scratches as though a crazed animal had been trying to escape. The inside of the bathroom corroborated the door's story – the walls were covered with scratches and smears of blood, the shower curtain was in shreds on the floor, and the towel rack hung lopsided on the wall.

Edward was nowhere to be found.

* * *

For a moment, Roy stood on the sidewalk, looking helplessly in both directions. Edward could have gone anywhere. There was no telling what had set him off, but...it was obvious that something was wrong with him. _Very_ wrong. And they needed to help him. But to do that, first they needed to find him.

"All right, men, we need to split up," Roy said, his voice much calmer than his heart leaping in his throat. "Falman, take the car and search in a three-mile perimeter around the hotel. Breda, search Main Street. Hawkeye and Havoc, I want you to investigate the alleyways more closely. Alphonse, I need you to search East Street, and I'll take West Street."

Everyone called their assent and dispersed, and Roy hastened down West Street. He had no idea what any of them would do if they _did_ run into Edward, nor how they would be able to help him when they didn't even know what was wrong. But they had to give it their best try.

He hadn't been walking for long before he saw something lying in a heap in the circle of light cast by a streetlamp. At first he thought it was roadkill of some kind, but as he drew closer he realized with disgust that it was a cat – someone's pet, judging from the collar – that had been brutally torn apart. Its belly lay exposed for all the world to see, ripped to shreds though the rest of the body had been left alone. Bloody footprints – shoe prints – led off to a nearby alleyway.

Cautiously, Roy inched towards the shadowed alleyway, not sure what he was expecting to find. He stepped into the darkness and paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Something shifted further in, something that was breathing loudly. Roy strained his eyes, trying to make out the details of the form crouched at the end of the alleyway. "Who's there?"

A deep-throated growl echoed off the concrete walls to either side. Roy stepped back in surprise, and the _thing_ followed him. As it came closer to the light of the street, some of its features became clearer, and Roy gaped at it – him – in growing horror and disbelief.

If it hadn't been for the signature red coat, Roy would never have realized it was Edward. He stood hunched over, his hands trailing almost to the ground, his left ending in long, curving claws. His legs looked...twisted, almost as if they were trying to bend the wrong way. His hair hung in a ragged tangle around his face, not held back in his usual braid. Enormous, sharp teeth snarled at him, looking simply too big for his face, stretching his cheeks back and splitting the skin. Eyes glimmered in the darkness, reflecting the streetlight. There was no shred of humanity in them.

"What...happened to you?"

Edward growled again, crouching and bracing himself for a leap.

Roy hastily backed up. "It's me!" he said, holding out his arms to show he meant no harm. "Don't you know who I am?"

Before he could react, Edward leaped forward, knocking him onto his back. Sharp claws dug into Roy's shoulders, and Edward's hideous maw opened wide, aiming for his throat...

"Ed...please..."

Edward froze, his teeth touching Roy's skin but not breaking through. Roy hardly dared to breathe, staring up into one golden-rimmed eye that looked back at him. Moisture built up in that eye and fell onto Roy's cheek.

With a pained moan, Edward heaved himself off of Roy, closing his mouth again and edging back into the dark alleyway. He let out a whine like a dog, whimpering with pathetic little sobs of fear and pain. Gingerly, Roy sat up again and put a hand to his neck, realizing just how close he had come to ending up like the cat under the streetlamp. Edward and Roy stared at each other, neither daring to move, both terrified and confused.

Without warning, Edward jerked and fell flat on his face. He scrabbled against the ground, trying to get up again, but after a moment or two he fell still. Roy, starting forward in alarm, saw a dart embedded in the back of his neck.

While he was still examining the dart, the clicking of heeled shoes alerted him to a woman running towards them. Roy crouched over Edward protectively when he saw it was a woman wearing lopsided glasses and a lab coat, carrying a gun of some sort. But she tossed the gun aside as she approached, saying nervously, "Don't worry, it's just a tranquilizer. It'll just put him out for a couple hours."

"Who are you?" Roy demanded, removing the dart from Edward's neck and lifting the boy carefully into his arms.

"Molly Boswick," she replied, kneeling beside them. "I'm Thurber's assistant – he's the one who injected the drug that caused this." She gestured to Edward's mutated body. Her fingers gently touched Edward's split, stretched lips; she bit her lip and looked close to tears. "The drug was never supposed to be used on humans. I always knew Thurber had some odd ideas, but I didn't think it was harmful when it was just animals he was experimenting with... I'm sorry." She looked up at him and tucked a strand of reddish hair behind her ear. "This is all my fault. I should have realized what he was going to do, and stopped him somehow..."

"Where is this Thurber now?" Roy asked, allowing her to check Edward's pulse and look under his eyelids. She didn't treat him like a lab specimen, but worked with utmost gentleness as though holding a baby bird. "We need to find out how to reverse this...this transformation."

Finished with her rudimentary examination, Molly looked up, her expression suddenly hard. "Thurber? He's tied up in a corner of the staff room. Anesthetized. He'll keep until we can pack him off to jail in the morning. Come on, we need to take Mr. Elric back to the lab."

* * *

Edward looked even worse under the harsh fluorescent light in the laboratory. He lay on the examination table, breathing steadily. Something twinged in Roy's gut every time he looked at the bloody splits around Edward's grotesquely large teeth, or the enormous, livid veins running down either side of his neck.

Tearing his attention away, he focused instead on what Molly was telling him as she hooked Edward up to an IV. "This might not work, but the only way to save him before the transformation progresses is to give him a transfusion of unaffected human blood. With the help of this antibiotic, hopefully his body will be able to reject the foreign substance and reverse the process. There's just one issue."

"What's that?"

"Our lab isn't authorized to carry our own supply of human blood, and we need to start the transfusion process _now._ It's already been several hours since he was injected, and the drug has progressed so far. If we wait until we can get through all the hoops in order to obtain enough blood...it might be too late." Molly bit her lip and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Roy immediately pulled off his military jacket and started rolling up his sleeve. "There's a simple solution to that."

Molly nodded. "I'm afraid that's the _only_ solution. But understand that we'll have to _entirely_ replace his blood to get the drug out of his system. You would be in danger until the process is over and we can get you two to a hospital. I would say we should use Thurber's, but he has so much anesthetic in his bloodstream right now..."

"No," Roy said decisively, brushing Edward's long, tangled bangs away from his face. "I wouldn't want that maniac's blood tainting my subordinate. Ed is _my_ responsibility."

Molly wheeled over another examination table, and Roy lay down with his arm on top of the warm blanket she provided. While Molly set up the procedure, Roy reached across the small space between them and took Edward's left hand in his own. Despite the claws and the extra-large knuckles, it still felt warm and human. He would see to it that he made the rest human as well.

Roy watched his own blood run down the tube and enter Edward's arm. As the minutes slowly passed, he wondered if he was imagining that Edward's teeth were becoming smaller. But he felt himself growing more and more sleepy, so he couldn't focus long enough to decide. Before drifting into unconsciousness, he squeezed Edward's hand a little tighter.

_Everything will be all right again. I promise._

* * *

When Roy next opened his eyes, he was in a hospital room shared with Edward and an old man who was snoring loudly. Edward was awake, watching him. His left hand was bandaged (and judging from the bulk, so was his right foot), and the splits on the sides of his mouth were stitched together. He looked sick and weary, but his eyes were back to normal and there was no sign of those hideous teeth.

Roy felt a bit shaky, and decided he'd rather not try to sit up, but other than that he felt just fine. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Edward. The boy couldn't say anything, couldn't even smile, but he gave Roy a thumbs-up with his free hand. Roy grinned wide enough for both of them.


	59. Study

**Author's Note: There was a stray line in "No speaking" that said: "Edward had developed something of a phobia of water ever since his torture," but I didn't really delve into it. I had this whole scenario in mind while writing that chapter, but it just didn't seem to fit, so I left it out. But phobias are so fascinating that I decided to explore it separately.**

**Timeline: Between "Quick mouth" and "No speaking"**

**Theme 59: Study**

Roy began something of a study of Edward Elric. He felt uncomfortably like a stalker, but it wasn't exactly hard to keep track of a teenager who was always accompanied by a gigantic suit of armor, especially not when they were hanging around Headquarters and the library. It was a simple thing to pass them by nonchalantly in the hallway, or pretend he was going to the library to look up help for his own psychological problems. And if he was looking up phobias as well as general PTSD...well, who was keeping track anyway?

It became increasingly clear that Edward was suffering from aquaphobia. Roy wasn't surprised in the slightest; the Drachmans had nearly drowned him that day. He still dreamed about it sometimes – Edward's head pushed under again and again, struggling, gasping for breath, plunging under again... Sometimes he would fall still and wouldn't even struggle anymore, but the laughing, looming shadows would keep pushing him under again and again. He could only imagine it was worse for Edward himself.

Edward hyperventilated and clung to Alphonse's arm when they passed the fountain in the lobby of Headquarters. One rainy day when they walked to the library, he fainted when a passing car splashed them, and after that he never set foot outside when it rained. Alphonse privately told him that it was hard to convince Edward to take a shower, and even when he did he refused to get his face wet.

Roy felt useless and stupid. No matter how many times Hawkeye urged him to just focus on his own problems – there were certainly enough of those – he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for all of Edward's misery. As if it wasn't enough that he'd gone mute after their ordeal. No, he had to suffer from a phobia that was affecting his daily life.

Since he had trouble sleeping anyway, Roy spent most of his nights in the office, finishing paperwork or reading up on phobias. He knew that Hawkeye didn't approve, but now that his hand was completely healed, he was getting through so much paperwork that she could hardly complain. One day in particular, he looked up from his book and noticed that it was already eight the next morning. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, knowing that he would probably drift off during the day and annoy Hawkeye even more. Maybe she would insist on marching him home that night and sitting by his bed until he fell asleep. That wouldn't be so bad.

Yawning, he wandered into the restroom, rolling up his sleeves and filling up one of the sinks with water. He blearily contemplated the stubble on his chin in the mirror, wishing he'd thought to bring his razor with him. Oh well, he didn't exactly look presentable with such large circles under his eyes anyway.

He splashed water onto his face, dimly aware of the door opening and someone else coming in. Maybe he wasn't the only one pulling an all-nighter. Just as he dipped his hands into the water, preparing to splash more water on his face, someone rushed forward and shoved him back against the wall. Roy let out a little 'oof!' as he took the blow heavily in his left shoulder. He blinked the water out of his eyes and looked down in surprise to see Edward standing there, breathing hard and staring at him with wide eyes. His arm pressed against Roy's chest protectively, as though he'd just knocked him out of the way of a runaway train.

"Ed?"

Edward hastily backed up a few steps, flushing bright red and refusing to look Roy in the eye. His gaze wandered nervously to the water in the sink, and he hunched his shoulders. Roy reached over and pulled the plug, letting the water run down the drain. Edward breathed more easily, but his face was redder than ever. His left hand tangled in his hair with a frustrated motion, and he turned away.

Heart heavy, Roy reached out and pulled Edward back around. "Hey, kid..." He enveloped the boy in his arms and let out a deep sigh. Edward's face was almost as red as his coat, but he didn't try to pull away. Roy laid a gentle hand on the back of his head, where the Drachmans had grabbed his hair to push his face underwater. Could he ever undo the damage that had been done to this boy?

"It'll be okay. I know it's hard...but I promise it'll be okay someday."


	60. Dozing

**Author's Note: I wrote this chapter during a very boring meeting, and as such, am not terribly fond of it. It just makes me feel sleepy and bored XD But as a relief from all the angst and torment of recent chapters, I thought it might be good to have a quiet chapter.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 60: Dozing**

Edward stomped into the office, ignored the cheerful greetings of the men seated there, and thrust the door open to Mustang's inner office. He drew breath to throw out a few choice insults, when he abruptly stopped himself and caught the door before it could hit the weathered dent on the wall. Normally he wouldn't mind what a disturbance it was – usually the louder and more obnoxious he could be, the better.

But today, he closed the door softly behind himself and tiptoed up to the imposing desk. Roy Mustang was fast asleep, mouth open, drool dripping from one corner, snoring softly.

Edward just stood there for a minute, not quite sure what to do. He'd never been put in this situation before; Mustang was usually upright and alert whenever he came in to report, sharp and quick-witted enough to throw a few snide comments back his direction. He'd never seen Mustang so...vulnerable.

Bending over a little farther, Edward examined his superior's dozing face curiously. With so much of his attention usually drawn to the infuriating smirks and authoritative voice, he'd never really noticed the lines in Mustang's forehead, or the bags under his eyes, or the way his cheeks sagged with exhaustion. Somehow, looking at him now, Edward realized just how hard his superior worked to reach his goals. It left him completely worn out at the end of every day.

Edward craned his neck to see what Mustang was working on. To his surprise, there was a rather large stack of completed paperwork on the left side of the desk, and only one form that he hadn't filled out yet. He had started, but obviously fallen asleep partway through; the last word he'd written was rather messy, and trailed off in a streak of ink belonging to the pen he still held between loose fingers. On one side, there was a pad of paper on which Mustang had scrawled a note to himself: _Full Metal 3:00 November 23._ Underneath it, in a neat hand that could only be Hawkeye's, there was another note that said, _Paperwork done before in case you get into an argument._

Edward snorted. It was always Mustang's fault they argued; he was the one who started teasing and got him upset. He'd always assumed Mustang did it to take up more time so he could get away with slacking off. Looked like Hawkeye had caught on to that.

Smirking, he dropped into one of the couches and settled into the soft upholstery, waiting for Mustang to wake up. He supposed he could just wake his superior up himself, but... He looked over at the man awkwardly. The guy looked like he could do with some sleep, and they weren't in a rush. Mustang had actually gotten his work done, and Edward didn't have any new leads (yet – he'd hoped Mustang might have some). So he waited.

After a few minutes of staring at the far wall and listening to the clock tick loudly in the silence, Edward kicked his shoes off and lay down on the couch. The train always gave him a horrible crick in his neck, especially when the train had been as full as this one and prevented him from lying out flat on the bench. Since he would probably be bending over books in the library the next day and getting even worse aches in his neck, he decided he might as well take advantage of Mustang's expensive sofa while he had the chance.

When fifteen minutes had passed without the tell-tale raised voices and taunting laughter, Hawkeye decided to poke her head into Mustang's office. She would pretend to have come to pick up Mustang's finished paperwork, and make sure the two hadn't killed each other somehow. But when she entered the office, she stopped short and her eyebrows rose in surprise. Mustang was slumped over in his chair, fast asleep, and Edward was stretched out on the couch, sleeping with his mouth open and his hand unconsciously pushing his shirt up. The sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing and the occasional soft snort filled the room. Slowly, Hawkeye smiled and backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.


	61. Intuition

**Author's Note: This chapter began as proof that yes, I **_**can**_** write a pleasant, non-angsty scene where Mustang and Ed are just talking XD It doesn't happen too often, because the angst is just so much more interesting, but we've had a **_**lot**_** of angst lately, so I don't begrudge this theme too much.**

**Timeline: Postseries (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 61: Intuition**

"Edward Elric, you served the state well in your years as the Full Metal Alchemist. Call it intuition, but I knew when we first met that you would go far."

"Just wait, Al, this is the part where he tries to rope me back into the job."

"Brother, how can you be sure-"

"Call it intuition."

Roy smirked fondly at the brothers. He was shocked to admit it to himself, but he missed the griping, the bickering, the sunny smile Edward flashed at his brother. He didn't even think about it most days, since he had been so focused on making his way into the seat of the Fuhrer for so long, but there had been something missing from his life after the Elric brothers had gone off to Risenpool. Life in the military was orderly and strict, and that was how he liked it...but it didn't hurt to have an Elric or two smash their way into his office and lighten the mood every once in a while.

So even though they sat on either side of a huge oak desk in the ornate office of the Fuhrer, Alphonse was in a strong body of his own, and Edward sported a beard to rival Hohenheim's, it felt just like the old days. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and laced his fingers together. "Your intuition proves right again, Edward. I _did_ call you in to put you back in the military."

Edward heaved a sigh and crossed his arms. "Look, I know you just can't _live_ without me, but I can't do alchemy anymore, so there's no way I can become the Full Metal Alchemist again, even if I wanted to. It's just physically impossible."

"But all the mental knowledge is intact, correct?"

Edward started to agree, then stopped himself and frowned at Roy suspiciously. "What's your point?"

"As you know, the State Alchemist program was created ostensibly to hone the abilities of the most skilled alchemists towards the defense of this country. In reality, it was Father's method of selecting his 'human sacrifices.' There's been talk of shutting down the program entirely, but I have faith that it can still be put to good use. Of course, if I'm to revitalize that branch of the military, I'll need someone who agrees with my view of alchemy's true potential..."

"And you want me to be that man," Edward finished flatly.

Roy nodded, trying to gauge his expression. He wasn't sure Edward realized what a singular man he was – and that had nothing to do with his previous expertise with alchemy. Even if he hadn't been able to perform a single transmutation, he would still have the highest integrity of almost anyone Roy knew. How many men could spend almost five years in the military, getting into more fights than most saw outside of war, and walk away with a pristine conscience? He had seen the ugliest side of life there was, but still could hold his head high.

Roy had to admit, he was a little envious.

Roy took a deep breath and admitted, "I need you, Edward. I need someone I can trust implicitly, someone who can hold the right people accountable...so I don't turn into the next King Bradley, and order my State Alchemists to burn innocent children to death."

Edward frowned at him for a moment, then swore and got to his feet, pacing over to the window and gazing out at the buildings of Central. Alphonse looked in confusion between the two men. "Brother...?"

With a huff, Edward turned back and gave Roy a wry, defeated smile. "You just know all the right buttons to push, don't you?"

Roy smiled back, relieved. "Well, I _have_ known you for fifteen years."

"And in all those years, you'd think you might have gotten a little less devious."

"Never."


	62. Hospital

**Author's Note: I'd imagine it would take all of our heroes quite a while to recover from the injuries sustained during the Promised Day, so I wanted to explore a quiet sort of conversation between these two during that time. It may have turned out a bit too angsty for a "pleasant conversation" like people say I need to write more of, but I guess there's just no escaping it when you're me.**

**Timeline: Postseries**

**Theme 62: Hospital**

_for Do a Barrel Roll_

The physical therapy room of Central Military Hospital had a surprisingly comforting atmosphere. A few soldiers exercised in various places throughout the large, cheery room, stretching their muscles and carefully testing their strength. One or two physical therapists helped them, but most in this room could continue their exercises themselves. It was just a matter of their wounds healing, and then they could return home at last.

Roy didn't require a lot of physical therapy – at least, nothing compared to what Havoc had to endure. Several of his bones and tendons in his hands had been sliced through when Bradley pinned him to the floor with his swords, and it had taken a long time, but they were beginning to heal. Now he just needed to get his strength back in his fingers so he could use his alchemy again.

A short distance away from where he performed his meticulous exercises, Edward sat lifting weights with his newly-restored right arm. It was shockingly thin, hardly more than skin and bones, looking the twin of Alphonse's emaciated body. Apparently it had been trapped in that white Truth place these past five years, receiving no nourishment or exercise. It would take a while before it could match the boy's tanned, muscled left arm.

They went about their exercises calmly and quietly, as they had been doing for the past week. It was surprisingly relaxing to just sit in the same room together, slowly bringing their bodies back to full strength. Soon, they would go their separate ways – Roy to Ishbal to fulfill his promise to the souls that restored his sight, Edward to Risenpool to spend some much-needed recovery time with his brother and the Rockbells. But even once Roy returned to Central and the Elric brothers started hankering for adventure again, they knew things wouldn't return to the way they had been the last five years. Edward had lost his alchemy, so he no longer had any ties to the military. No ties to Roy. They would probably see each other again, if the Elric brothers dropped by Central, but they would never share the closeness they had known, working directly under him all these years.

So Roy savored these quiet moments and tried not to let on, to himself or anyone else, how much he would miss Edward when he was gone. Their parting was inevitable, and they would be leaving on good terms, so there was nothing else he could do.

Edward flexed his right arm experimentally, then puffed out his breath impatiently, pulled off his loose black shirt, and dropped to the floor to do push-ups. Roy could see how his right arm trembled to support his weight, and sweat began rolling down the boy's forehead, but he kept going, pushing himself to his limits. Roy looked at Edward's shoulders, casting a critical eye down the boy's back as he worked. Edward's body was covered with tiny scars and half-healed wounds, testament to the amount of fights he'd gotten into in his years as a State Alchemist. Roy felt a little guilty for the amount of times he'd allowed his subordinate to get into such bad scrapes that they'd left a permanent mark. But then, about half of them were probably instigated by Edward himself, with a confrontational nature like his.

Finally, Edward stopped and sat back on his heels, letting his trembling right arm rest while he wiped the sweat off his forehead. But as he pushed himself to his feet and stretched luxuriously, Roy stopped his own exercises abruptly, staring at the boy's side. "Full Metal," he said in a hard voice. "What – is – _that._"

Edward looked down in surprise at the wound Roy was pointing to. A huge patch of scar tissue stretched across Edward side, just to the side of his stomach, as though someone had thrust a spear right through him. It corresponded to one of the larger scars Roy had seen on his back, but it looked even worse from the front.

"Oh," Edward said flatly. "That."

"Don't _oh, that_!" Roy snapped. "What the hell _happened_ to you?"

Edward reached for his shirt and pulled it on again, unconcerned. "It happened when I was in Baschool. When I was up in Briggs, fighting Kimbley."

Rage boiled inside him. He'd seen how cruel the man could be in Ishbal. "_Kimbley_ did this to you?"

Edward shrugged. "Well, sorta. He blew up a tower, and I fell down a mine shaft and got impaled on a metal beam. So I had to use some of my life force to seal it up again." He said it all so nonchalantly, as though this sort of thing happened every day. Unfortunately, for someone like him, it tended to.

"What do you mean, your life force?"

"You know – I used myself like a Philosopher's Stone made of one soul to fuel the transmutation. It probably took off several years of my life, but-"

"You _what?_" Roy shot to his feet.

"What?" Edward frowned defensively. "What was I supposed to do, bleed out and die and disappoint everybody?"

"But...but...you don't just...knock off a few years...don't you realize..." Roy realized he was spluttering and stopped, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath, then said resignedly, "How _many_ years?"

"It's not really an exact science, and I was kind of passing out from blood loss at the time," Edward said sarcastically. He thought a moment, then said, "Probably somewhere around five years. No more than ten. Why do you care? You'll be dead by then anyway."

Roy glared at Edward, knowing he was just trying to rile him up so they wouldn't have to think about the unfortunate consequences of this. It was a tactic the boy often used to deflect Roy's attention from errors of judgment he had made in his missions. Often, Roy would let it slide for the sake of teasing the boy, but this time he wouldn't be fooled. "Of course I _care._ You shouldn't be so flippant with your own life, Edward. There are plenty of people who would be very sad if you died young."

Edward shrugged, turning his back. "Don't worry, old man. This way we can go out together."

Roy sighed. That was hardly the point, but he hoped Edward would take his words to heart later. The last thing Roy wanted to do was attend Edward's funeral.


	63. Every Day

**Author's Note: Well, this didn't turn out quite the way I was intending it to. It's supposed to be fluffy and heartwarming, but I think it just turned out kind of weird. But hey, at least I didn't kill anyone this time! :D**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 63: Every day**

He thought of Edward every day.

It wasn't always the same thing that brought the image of the boisterous boy to his mind. Sometimes he would wake to the shrill ring of his alarm clock and remember with a groan, _Edward is due with his report today._ Sometimes on the way to or from work, he would spot a girl with flaxen pigtails and smirk to himself. Or maybe he would hear a child giggling in the grocery store and calling out, "Brother, come back!" His mind would immediately flit to Alphonse Elric, and inevitably he would think of Edward.

Ironically, as much as he dreaded seeing Edward in person because it would mean a loud argument and all the tension associated with a volatile teenager, thinking of Edward was often pleasant. As long as Edward wasn't around and shouting in his face, it was nice to give himself a break from serious military work to think up another colorful slight on the boy's height. It was less dangerous than daydreaming about Hawkeye, and less irritating than listening to Hughes jabber on and on about his wife.

He didn't think anything of it until Hawkeye said to him one day while driving him home, "You're thinking of Edward again, aren't you?"

Roy looked over in surprise, breaking from his idle scrutiny of the buildings swishing past. "What do you mean?"

Hawkeye smiled, not taking her eyes from the road. "You always get more relaxed when you think about him."

For a moment, Roy didn't know how to respond, but he pulled himself together and pointedly looked out the window again. "O-Of course. It gives me a lift to think of the pipsqueak blowing a gasket somewhere because someone called him short. That's all."

He was staring anywhere but at Hawkeye, so he didn't see her knowing smile.

* * *

He thought of Mustang every day.

It seemed like everything put him in mind of his superior officer. One day he would think of the man because they had wrapped things up and were returning to Central. Another day, he might see a man with dark hair and a particular strut, and he would scowl as they passed each other. The sight of military men always put him in mind of the colonel, of course, and even horses grazing in the fields they whizzed past in the train would make him think of Mustang with a chuckle to himself.

Most of the time, it was kind of annoying to have Mustang keep popping into his head at odd moments. It reminded him that he would have to return and report all of his doings to the colonel, mistakes and faults included. It was irritating, knowing that he had no choice but to subject himself to mocking words and jokes at his expense. The only thing that kept him going back was the possibility of getting a new lead. Their relationship was strictly business, so why did Mustang have to make it so difficult?

He never had to examine these thoughts until one day when Alphonse spoke up after a long silence on their train ride back to Central. "You're thinking about Mustang again, aren't you?"

Edward jerked in surprise, staring across at his brother. He felt his face growing hot, so he tried to casually cover up as much of his cheeks as possible by dropping his chin into his hand and turning his head so his bangs would hide him. "N-No I'm not. Why would I wanna think about _that_ jerk?"

"Yes you are. You always get calmer when you think about him. I mean, when you're not ranting to me about him anyway."

Well, _that_ made no sense. Roy Mustang was nothing but a pompous jerk who got on his nerves and made him want to yell. "Sheesh, Al," he muttered, glaring at the corn fields rushing past. "You're making it sound like I actually _like_ spending time with him."

And Alphonse was a suit of armor, so no one knew he was smiling to himself.


	64. Straying

**Author's Note: My first inclination was to do something about "dog of the military/stray dog," maybe something about Ed running away from the military. But then, he already does that in the first anime, and I'd already written about that part, so I tried to think of something else. So then I thought of "straying from the path," and then this delightfully angsty idea came to mind. And everyone ought to be happy, because the original form of this idea was even **_**angstier.**_

**Timeline: Postseries (about thirty years after Brotherhood)**

**Theme 64: Straying**

With heavy heart, Edward Elric knocked on Fuhrer Roy Mustang's office door. He knew even as he pushed the door open that it was a breach of some unspoken tradition between them for him to not simply burst through before getting permission...but that was oddly, horribly fitting.

"Edward Elric. What brings you here?" The man's voice was a little uncertain, as though he knew what his erstwhile subordinate had come for.

After all, they had no reason to see each other anymore, so what else could he have come for?

Edward sighed, walked up to the large oak desk and looked down at the Fuhrer seated behind it. What had happened to the sleek, self-assured colonel he had once known? Now Roy Mustang had grey hair, a stout belly bulging over his belt, and permanent frown lines that hardly ever seemed to give way to a smile. Edward felt old and sad himself just looking at the man. "You know why I'm here."

Mustang spread his hands placatingly, as if to stress that there was nothing he could do. "It's hardly _my_ fault your pension ran out, Mr. Elric. You were the one who decided to retire...much sooner than anticipated."

"I'm not here about my stupid _pension!_" Edward exploded, slamming his fist onto the desk. "I'm here about _this!_" He opened his fist, letting several thousand-cenz notes flutter in Mustang's direction. Mustang stared at them blankly.

Straightening, Edward glared down his nose at the Fuhrer. "Twenty years ago to the day, I came to this very office and borrowed seven thousand cenz from you, Roy Mustang. I told you I wouldn't pay you back until you'd made Amestris a democracy." He lowered his voice warningly, pleased to see Mustang shift a little in his chair. "And what have you done to that end in the last twenty years, _Fuhrer?_ I hear you've recently passed a new censorship act so the media can't say anything against you." He paused, but Mustang didn't say anything, so he pounded his fist on the desk again and shouted at the top of his lungs, "_Does that sound like a democracy to you?_"

Mustang pushed the cenz marginally back towards Edward and took a deep breath. "Elric, I think you fail to understand the compromises I've had to make to maintain my position-"

"Cut the crap already! I didn't leave my cozy fireside and my wife and kids to come all the way to Central just to listen to reasons and excuses and silver-tongued politician lingo. I came back to ask you _what the hell_ you think you're _doing!_"

Glaring back at him, his voice rising, Mustang retorted, "I'm _trying_ to run a country, and last I checked, _I'm_ the expert on that, not an alchemy tutor in some backwater village who can't even perform the transmutations he teaches!"

"I may not know anything about politics, but I'm not _blind!_" Edward roared. "I can see the way the people are suffering under your taxes and oppression, I can see the unrest building in people's hearts that will probably lead to revolution and assassination, and I can see how much this is hurting your _wife!_" He pointed back at the door he'd come through, viciously satisfied to see Mustang's anger give way to sudden surprise. Mrs. Mustang could probably hear every word they said, but he didn't care anymore. "She's been hoping, just like I have, that eventually you'll realize you're ending up no better than Bradley. But we can both see that you're never going to change. You're straying from the path. And you know what that means."

Slowly, Mustang sank back into his plush chair, his eyes sliding hopelessly from Edward's face to the gun he held in his hand. Edward raised the pistol and pointed it right between Mustang's eyes. "Your wife was crying, you know. She brought this gun with her today to follow _your _orders – to make sure that you would keep to your original ideals. _You_ ordered her to kill you. _You're_ the one breaking her heart." He cocked the gun with a loud _click._ "I'm just sparing her some of the pain."

Mustang didn't beg for mercy. He didn't try to negotiate for his own life. He looked in despair at the barrel of the gun, closed his eyes, and sighed, "You're right. I'm sorry I brought you to this, Edward."

_Bang._

Edward threw the gun onto the desk with a loud _clunk._ He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched as Mustang slowly opened his eyes again and looked around in confusion. He looked at the smoldering hole in the wall behind him, then at the gun on top of the small pile of money, then back up at Edward, who shrugged. "Always was a bad shot."

Mustang got to his feet. "I'll...I'll resign today," he said in a choked voice.

"No." Edward turned to leave. "You'll do everything in your power to make Amestris a democracy, and then you'll _retire._ And then, since you seem so concerned about pensions, you can just donate all of yours to the Ishbal Fund. And then maybe you can come to my backwater village and teach children the _true_ meaning of Equivalent Trade."

With that, Edward stalked over to the door and opened it. As expected, Mrs. Mustang stood outside, shell-shocked and tear-streaked. She stared numbly at Edward, until he stepped aside so she could see her husband. She let out a sound halfway between a scream and a sob, then raced into the room and threw herself at her husband.

Edward left them to it. His work was finished, and he wanted to get home so he could grade a few papers over a cup of coffee and a slice of Winry's delicious pie. And then there was that addition to the shed he wanted to work on with his son so he could have his own space to tinker, and his daughter was sure to have five new ludicrous questions about alchemy he'd never thought of before...

Edward Elric left Central Command, mind abuzz with a dozen homely concerns. He never stopped to realize that he had single-handedly changed the fate of the entire country.

But Roy Mustang never forgot.


	65. Departure

**Author's Note: I am evil, and everyone ought to hate me after this, and I don't care XD This angsty prompt was _begging_ to be used in such a way, so I have no regrets. If you want to get into the kind of melodramatic mindset I did to write this, I recommend listening to "Remember When It Rained" by Josh Groban while reading.**

**Timeline: AU after Lab 5**

**Theme 65: Departure**

_for Obsidian Buterfly, who should know better than to encourage me to write angst  
_

Roy didn't cry at Edward Elric's funeral.

Armstrong did, his shoulders heaving with barely-suppressed sobs. Hughes did too, sniffling and clutching his wife's hand so hard it had to hurt. Even Fury sniffled a little as they lowered the coffin into the ground, and the rest of the team looked inconsolably sad.

But Roy wasn't sad. He hadn't felt much of anything since the lurch in his stomach when he'd first got the news. Hawkeye had been the one to book them tickets on the next train to Central, and she'd herded him around as necessary to bring him here. He didn't know why everyone kept looking at him with strangely cautious glances, almost seeming afraid to meet his gaze. He was fine. He just stared at the blue sky and wondered distantly why they were so worried.

Apparently, the Elric brothers had been investigating some sort of suspicious activity in a disused lab here in Central, and the building had collapsed around them. Roy had the vague notion that he should probably be more worried about this, that he should investigate this incident further to find out what the full story was. But right now, he couldn't muster up the energy to care. He kept on closing his eyes and seeing Edward's dead face staring up at him.

They had cleaned up the boy's broken body and decked him out in full military regalia, but at least they had had the decency to add his signature red coat. That had probably been someone's suggestion, like Hughes or maybe Hawkeye. Still, it didn't look much like the Edward he knew. The face was too pale, too calm and still. Even the funny little bit of hair that always stuck up in the front had been smoothed flat against his forehead. As Roy bent over the casket one last time, he half expected Edward to crack open an eye and growl irritably, _What are _you_ lookin' at, idiot Colonel?_

Alphonse had died too. Roy supposed that was fortunate, but for the most part he didn't feel one way or another about the brothers' departure from this world. Hughes had told him privately that when they had pulled the shattered suit of armor from the wreckage, they had found a deep scratch running right through the blood seal, severing his soul's tie to this world. Naturally they couldn't let anyone else know, but they had placed Alphonse's dented helmet in the coffin with Edward, so the brothers could remain at each other's side in death as well as in life.

Roy wondered what he was supposed to feel as they shoveled dirt over the coffin and little Elysia Hughes piped up, "Why are they burying my big brothers, Daddy?" Hughes crouched down to gather his daughter into his arms, his glasses fogging up as he cried into her hair.

Birds were singing. Edward Elric was dead.

Gradually, after the grave had been filled and the stone set in place, everyone else gradually drifted off in twos and threes. The military men who hadn't known the boy left first, then one by one Mustang's team left. Fury hurried past him with face averted, Falman bowed his head, Breda heaved a sigh and nodded to Roy, and Havoc gave him a sympathetic look and touched his shoulder. Hughes gently put Elysia in Gracia's arms, then turned to Roy. They looked at each other for a moment, Hughes's chin trembling again, and then he hugged Roy as tightly as he could. He mumbled something along the lines of, "It's going to be okay, buddy," held him for a while, and then left. Hawkeye stood a short distance away, holding his coat and waiting for him.

Roy felt like he ought to leave too, because it was kind of pointless to just stand there, but for some reason his legs refused to move.

"Hey, kid," he said lamely to the gravestone. Such a boring gravestone, too, just blandly stating that he had 'fallen in the line of duty,' not bothering to mention what an annoying brat he was, or how many times he'd slammed his way into Roy's office and ruined his furniture and annoyed him and gone gallivanting across the country and saved people's lives and ticked off important people and defeated villains and run into dead ends and fallen down and picked himself back up again and kept moving forward.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, lying in the ground like that?" His voice sounded rough and halting to his own ears. "You've got no time to laze around. You have to get up and take another step forward. That's what you always tell me, right? You've never given up before, and now is _hardly_ the time to let me down. Stupid kid, did you think you could rely on adults to do all your work for you? Did you think I'd be there to save your hide like I did with Scar? Didn't you know I'd let you down? Didn't you know I'm nothing more than your superior officer and I don't _care_ if you die? All you mean to me now is just some extra paperwork, you stupid boy. You never meant the world to me. You never made me proud to be your superior. You never made me wish and hope that someday you might look at me and _smile_ and say you were happy I was in your life..."

He cursed under his breath. He felt a hand on his arm, knew it was Hawkeye. He swallowed painfully and looked at the cloudless blue sky. "It's...going to rain."

She gently squeezed his arm. "Yes."

One tear followed another, and Roy sank to the ground before the grave. Hawkeye knelt down beside him and held him as the pain rolled in.


	66. Different Roads

**Author's Note: I wanted to show more of the story of Mustang as a high-ranking soldier in a concentration camp, and show how he and Ed would cope after the war is over. I honestly don't know how realistic this scenario is, but it was my best attempt without research (lol, that sounds so lazy! XD). Also, shortly before the camp was shut down, Mustang managed to become the officer in charge of it, so unfortunately everyone's pointing their fingers at him.**

**Timeline: About a year after "I won't surrender"**

**Theme 66: Different roads**

_for Eternal She-Wolf, who had a really interesting idea_

Reporters packed the courtroom, watching breathlessly and snapping photos as two guards marched Roy Mustang into the defendant's chair. Everyone had been through a grueling week of such trials, had heard the stories of so many atrocities they were all starting to blur together. They had just finished a long list of doctors and scientists who had developed the horrific chemicals that had killed thousands of Jews in the camps. Now that they were bringing in the head of one of these camps, they were hungry to hear his merciless sentence.

The hearts of the photographers pounded as they took pictures of Colonel Mustang. He started out like all the others, sitting up straight and not betraying a hint of emotion on a face schooled with military precision. But as they read out his charges and listed the evidence stacked against him, Mustang's shoulders gradually slumped and his head hung low, as though the weight of his sins bowed him down.

Witnesses, many of them his own soldiers, sat down and spoke their accusations against him, one by one. Hundreds of thousands of prisoners killed in a dozen unimaginably gruesome ways. Bodies burned. Children killed. Deaths from starvation and the cold. And all of this under Roy Mustang's command. Perhaps the worst of all, he had sexually abused young boys in the prison and then had them killed when he was finished with them.

The reporters were impatient for the sentence. Everyone waited breathlessly for an execution, eager for someone to heap all their outrage on. The reporters could see the headlines now: _Roy Mustang executed for heinous war crimes. _It was just a matter of whether he would get the electric chair or a firing squad.

"Roy Mustang, is there anything you would like to say for yourself?"

Trembling, pale, Mustang straightened a little and said in a choked voice, "It's all true. I should have tried harder to-"

Suddenly the doors banged open and a short, skinny man stomped down the aisle. "Shut your face, Mustang!" he shouted, as everyone stared at him. "The witness for the defense is here!"

Defense? But what could this little man possibly say to clear so many crimes against humanity?

The reporters began furiously snapping photos as soon as the man announced who he was: Edward Elric, one of the survivors of the very camp Mustang had been in charge of. He pushed up his sleeve and showed them all the number branded into his skin, and now they understood that the hard lines in his face came, not from age, but from the hardships he had endured in the camp.

Everyone listened, entranced, as Elric told them the other side of the story. He explained how Mustang was trying to reach a higher position so he could put a stop to this massacre. He called in the man's wife to testify how careful he'd been, to keep her and their newborn son safe and above suspicion. Elric brought in the soldiers no one had thought to use as witnesses. Breda, who had been in charge of feeding the prisoners, told everyone how Mustang had ordered shipments of vitamin and calcium pills, ostensibly for the soldiers' use, and had then instructed Breda to put them in the prisoners' food in an attempt to make them healthier. Dr. Knox explained how prisoners who were brought into the camp hospital for various injuries and illnesses would often be declared dead so they could be secretly sent to safety.

And then Elric called in a private no one had ever heard of named Havoc, who had been one of the sentries standing in a guard tower night after night to make sure no prisoner escaped. No one stirred as he described the deal Mustang had made with him early on: If Mustang supplied him with cigarettes, he would turn a blind eye from time to time and not watch a certain stretch of fence. Neither of them ever said anything about what the purpose of this was, but Havoc knew. He was helping the children escape. He just had to build up a reputation as a pedophile to escape suspicion.

"I was one of those boys," Elric finished simply. "Colonel Mustang risked his life to save mine."

Finally Mustang raised his head, and shared a long look with his former prisoner. Some of the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.

In the end, Mustang walked out of the courtroom facing only a year in prison and all of his military privileges stripped from him. It was incredibly lenient for the leader of a concentration camp, and the reporters were eager to rush off and write fiery articles on such a delicious controversy. Cameras flashed as Elric and Mustang left the courtroom almost at the same time, then turned to face each other. The reporters closed in, asking for a statement from Mustang, for Elric's reaction to it all, for a comment on the different roads their lives would take now that the war was over.

But the two men ignored the media and stood looking at each other, as though communicating silently. Or maybe they were reliving those horrible days of fear and pain in the camp. Then they both said the only thing they could in such a position.

"Thank you."


	67. This Time Once Again

**Author's Note: You knew this had to come at some point. It's impossible to have a parental story without celebrating it at some point. Hopefully the end doesn't seem too OOC; I imagine Ed would have mentioned something nonchalantly, and then Al would have jumped on it and he would have regretted bringing it up XD**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 67: This time once again**

_for writer's legend and Victorious-Mind (who needs to read "Tempest" by Bookwrm389)_

Roy dragged himself into the office, heaving a loud, eloquent sigh as he carried his coffee and paperwork towards his desk. He was hoping for a reaction from Hawkeye, but it was Fury who looked up first and timidly asked, "What's wrong, sir?"

"It's this time once again," Roy moaned. "Full Metal's report at eleven."

"Ah, the Elrics are coming through?" Falman looked up from his writing with a pleasant smile.

"Yeah, and I've already got a killer headache," Roy muttered, taking a self-pitying sip of coffee. "I do _not_ want to deal with a teenager today."

"Well, it's perfect timing," Breda snickered, sharing a knowing look with Havoc.

"What do you mean?"

Havoc tipped his chair back, comfortably resting his hands behind his head. "Today's Father's Day."

"So?" Irritated, Roy turned back to his office door. "I'm not a father."

"Sure you are, boss."

Roy turned back around with a scowl. "What are you talking about?"

Finally Hawkeye spoke up, calmly turning a page in the report she was reading. "They're referring to the Elric brothers, sir."

Roy groaned. "Don't tell me _that_ rumor's circulating again. We look nothing like each other, and when I was fifteen-"

Breda interrupted him, still smirking along with Havoc. "There's a difference between _fathering_ someone and _being a father,_ you know."

The others seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, but Roy was utterly confused. "Right. And I've done _neither,_ so why are you-"

"Yo, Roy!" a cheerful voice sang out as the door swung open – the last voice Roy wanted to hear on a day like this.

"What now?" he grumbled, watching warily as Hughes greeted the others with a cheery wave and sauntered up to him. His front pocket was bulging with what looked like several hundred photos.

"Happy Father's Day to you _too,_ sunshine." Hughes clapped his hand on Roy's back, his cheerfulness not dimmed in the slightest. "C'mon, Roy, today's a day to celebrate!"

Roy swatted away his friend's hand. "Celebrate by yourself! I'm _not_ a father!"

"Sure you are," Hughes said confidently. "A father is someone who acts as a role model for his children, who sets a good example for them to follow. He's someone they can respect. He shows them how to be a man. He's always there for them; they know they can always turn to him with their problems and he'll have a solution for them, or at least an understanding ear to listen to them. And most of all, he encourages them to meet their goals, to reach for the stars, to realize their full potential – like this picture of my adorable Elysia!" He interrupted his pompous speech to shove a photo in front of Roy's nose. "Look at the paper heart she made for Daddy! Isn't she precious?"

Ten pictures and many feeble protests later, Roy was actually relieved when the brothers showed up. He left Hughes to shower his other subordinates with snapshots, and beckoned Edward into his office instead. Alphonse slipped in behind them – probably trying to escape Hughes, who usually seemed to pounce on him because he tended to make the mistake of calling Elysia cute.

Once he'd situated himself behind his desk, Roy realized that Edward looked distinctly awkward, and Alphonse kept pushing him forward. "C'mon, Brother!" he hissed. "This was your idea in the first place!"

"No it wasn't!" Edward hissed back, but when he noticed Roy was listening, he reddened and took a deep breath, then glared at the wall. After a few moments, he mumbled, "We, um...we just wanted to say...thanks."

Roy blinked in surprise. This was so unlike Edward. "For what?"

Edward kicked Alphonse with a dull thud. "You tell 'im," he muttered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Alphonse heaved an exasperated sigh; Roy could practically see him rolling his eyes. "Fine. You've done a lot for us over the years, Colonel, and we thought we should let you know how much we appreciate it. You're a good man, and we really respect you...even if we don't always show it." He looked pointedly at Edward, who was staring fixedly at the ground, his cheeks as red as his coat. "And you always help us out. We always know we can ask you for help if we run into trouble, and we can come back here when we don't know what to do anymore, and you'll give us some advice or suggestions of where to look next. You..." He shuffled his feet a little, starting to look shy himself. "You always make us want to do better. To do our best. So you'll be proud of us. Thank you."

He bowed low, then nudged Edward, who bobbed quickly in a half-bow, refusing to look anywhere near his commanding officer.

Roy couldn't stop the slow, warm smile that spread across his face. "It's...my pleasure." Maybe it wasn't so bad to be a father.


	68. Search

**Author's Note: I've long wanted to do more with Ed's experience of the Drachma War, and the team dynamics that must have developed over the course of their long march. Hopefully this is believable enough.**

**Timeline: Postseries AU**

**Theme 68: Search**

_for ilikedan, who might have wanted something more_

Edward wearily trudged into the mess tent after a long, hard day. Right now, he could think of few things worse than trudging all day up the freakishly tall Briggs mountains – and few things better than something warm in his belly. He didn't really care what. With a tired glance around, he saw the men from his squad sitting together at one of the long, collapsible tables, so he headed that direction. Few other men were still in the tent; his squad had been the last to make it to camp, and even so he'd lagged far behind the others. But at this point, he didn't care what anyone said about the length of his legs or how much longer a child would last in the military.

He got his food and sat down at the end of one of the benches, but as soon as he raised a spoon to his mouth, the man sitting next to him shoved his elbow at him, making him spill beef stew all down his front. When he sputtered, the large man looked around and Edward realized with a sinking feeling that it was Rushgard.

The beefy man with a dark crew cut and knuckles the size of Edward's face turned around with a cocky grin. "Oh, sorry," he said unconvincingly. "Didn't see you there..._sir._"

Edward was too tired to yell, so he tried to sound dignified as he said coldly, "I don't like your attitude, soldier."

"Oh?" Rushgard noisily slurped the last of his stew. "Too bad, _Colonel._"

Edward knew he needed to stop this insolence now, nip it in the bud before it got any worse. He knew respect of authority was essential to an effective unit, and if they all wanted to stay alive in the battles ahead, they would _have _to be a cohesive whole. But he was so _tired,_ they'd been at this march for _weeks,_ and Rushgard was so big and confident and would probably have to be beat into submission or transferred to another unit...

So Edward said nothing, wiped the stew off his face, and left the mess tent. He distinctly heard Rushgard's mocking guffaw, joined by general laughter and muttering. He wasn't going to deal with it now. Maybe next time.

But he knew, as he pushed aside the tent flap and rolled up in his blankets on the cold, hard ground, that every time he let the men get away with it, his authority over them weakened. And if they wouldn't listen to him when it really mattered...

Edward pretended to be asleep when he heard Mustang enter and zip the tent flap closed behind him. He wished once again that he hadn't been promoted, or sent off to this stupid war. Mustang knew how to handle insubordination, didn't he? He'd had to deal with it every day he'd known Edward, at least. But Edward knew he couldn't rely on Mustang to fight his battles for him. This was why he'd been entrusted with this responsibility – to prove he could handle it.

Mustang quietly leaned over him to see if he was asleep, then lay down next to him and gently tossed a blanket over both of them. That trust was misplaced.

* * *

A blizzard blew in during the night and continued to rage through the morning. No one could do anything but stay in their tents and try to keep warm. Edward huddled next to Roy, who maintained a careful little fire to keep them warm. He worried about Edward; the boy was growing quieter and more subdued with every day. Maybe this job _was_ too much. Suddenly the tent flap opened and a soldier ducked in, letting a cold blast of air blow out the fire.

The soldier lowered his face mask, and Edward jumped to his feet in surprise. "Collins?"

The man's blue eyes were wide with fear. "It's Rushgard, sir! He went out to get more fuel and hasn't come back-"

Edward scowled with more life than Roy had seen in him for days. "Don't tell me he tried to go out in this without a guide rope? What kind of show-off-"

"No, sir, he had a guide rope!" Collins yelled over the wind. "But the end was frayed off – probably got caught in a tree limb in all this wind, sir!"

With a curse, Edward pulled on the rest of his outer clothing. "Well, come on!" he said when they just looked at him. "Start a search party! Do _something!_ We can't just leave him out there or he'll freeze to death!"

Roy stood with a reluctant frown, knowing how much Edward valued life. "There's nothing we can do, Full Metal. If we send any more men out there, we'll only lose-"

"Fine!" Edward snapped, pulling up his face mask to cover his mouth and nose. "Let him die then! But _I'm_ going to do what I can while there's still a chance!"

Roy grabbed at him as he raced out of the tent. "Wait, Full Metal! Edward!" He was too slow. Roy hurried out of the tent, but the boy had already disappeared into the whirling white of the blizzard.

In the end, there was nothing to do but dismiss Collins and sit in his empty tent, shivering and listening to the wind screaming all around him. He cursed himself for not anticipating this, for not being quicker to restrain Edward or talk sense into him. For being so _useless._ If he went after them, he would be lost too, and that would be no help to either man. But it felt like abandonment, to just sit here in relative warmth and shelter while Edward braved the storm for one of his men.

Roy remembered what Alphonse had said to him the day before they'd left for the northern front. _Bring him back whole and safe, Mustang. If anything happens to him, I will kill you._ The normally gentle, cheerful voice hardened into sharp, cold points like the ones on his old armor, and Roy knew the boy was serious. He still felt chills run down his spine just thinking about it.

What would he say if he returned to Central without Edward? How could he face Alphonse, Winry Rockbell, any one of Edward's many friends? _He was under my charge, and I failed him. He froze to death in the Briggs mountains._

Roy worked himself up to a frenzy till the wind had died down and the storm blew over. The sun shone low in the frigid sky, and Roy burst from his tent like a bear tired of hibernation. He ran in the direction Collins had pointed out before, struggling through the deep drifts and looking around vainly for footprints he knew he wouldn't find.

But he had not left the camp far behind when he saw them – two blue blobs against the snow, one huge and one tiny. Roy struggled to cut a path through to them, and as he drew nearer he saw Edward half-dragging behind him a barely-conscious soldier almost three times his size. With Roy's help, Edward dragged Rushgard into camp and towards the medic tent. As they passed, every soldier poked his head out of his tent, set down what he was doing, and stared.

From that day forward, Rushgard treated Colonel Elric with utmost respect.


	69. Not Know

**Author's Note: I realized, while rewatching part of the anime, that Mustang and Izumi never speak a word to each other in the entire story, except for a short time when Mustang has just lost his sight and Izumi is trying to help him. I find this interesting, since those two are the closest things the Elric brothers have to a father figure and mother figure for most of the story. So I decided to see what would happen if they actually had a conversation.**

**Timeline: Midseries (sometime after the Dublith arc)**

**Theme 69: Not know**

One of the last things Roy Mustang was expecting, in the early afternoon of a late July day, was a visit in his office from Mrs. Izumi Curtis of the Curtis Meat Shop, Dublith.

Hawkeye showed her in, looking as confused as Roy felt, and Roy was just standing to greet her with a polite handshake when she stomped up to the desk (in a manner rather like her former apprentice, he thought), planted her feet in their house slippers, and demanded, "Where is he? Where is my fool of an apprentice?"

"I...don't know," Roy replied honestly, blinking and letting his hand fall back to his side.

"You _don't know?_" Izumi scoffed. "How could you _not know?_ You're his commanding officer, aren't you? Don't you have the responsibility to know where he is? Doesn't he make his movements based on _your_ orders? Isn't that how this military of yours is supposed to work?"

Roy sighed, remembering what Edward had once told him about his teacher's feelings towards the military. "Please sit down, Mrs. Curtis," he said, pushing a chair towards her and sitting back down himself. "As for your question, you of all people should understand that Edward never tells anyone where he's going to impulsively decide to go next. He always just tears off on his own, thinking he can handle it all by himself."

Izumi glared at him for a moment, then snorted and dropped into the chair. "I guess you're right about that." She rubbed her forehead, letting out an exhausted sigh. "Ed actually called to tell me they were coming back to Dublith this time. But it's been two weeks and there's been no sign of them. I don't know if I should be angry or worried."

Roy chuckled fondly. "Sounds about right," he said, thinking of thousands of times Edward had been late for a report. "There's nothing you can do to stop him once he thinks he's found a new lead. And he never stops to consider that there might be some people in his life who worry about him and want to know he's doing all right."

Izumi's gaze was piercing, calculating. "And you're one of those people, aren't you?" she asked softly, as though she had just realized it.

Roy shrugged. "Of course. As his commanding officer, I'm responsible for him, and I take that responsibility seriously – whenever he'll let me." He rolled his eyes, sharing a knowing smile with Izumi. "And I know how much trouble hot-headed brats like him get into. He's seen his fair share of injury and danger. I just do my best to get him through it alive."

Izumi smiled sadly, her gaze wandering out the window. "There's been so many times I've worried about that boy. When he was in training...when I heard he'd become a State Alchemist...so many times. He never seems to realize how many times he's nearly given me a heart attack. But that's what it takes to raise a kid like that, isn't it?"

Roy found himself nodding along with what she was saying, but stopped when he realized what it sounded like. "One would almost think we were his parents, wouldn't they?"

Izumi laughed in agreement, then abruptly stopped and gave him a fierce frown. "Are you trying to proposition me, young man?" she demanded. "Ed's told me what a womanizer you are, but I'll have none of it, hear me? I'm very happily married-"

"What? No, I...that wasn't what I meant at all..." The conversation had abruptly changed course; he had gone from agreeing with what she said to waving his hands wildly in front of him in denial.

In the middle of his protests, which grew louder and louder with her continued accusations, the door suddenly burst open, breaking off its hinges and crashing to the floor. "What's going on here?!" bellowed a huge man, almost as tall and muscular as Armstrong. "Lay a hand on my woman, you creep, and I'll punt you all the way to Dublith!"

Edward Elric would be in for it when he returned.


	70. Share

**Author's Note: As usual, this didn't turn out quite the way I'd intended, especially the last section (mainly because I couldn't quite decide what I wanted to happen). I got the idea for this while watching the episode of Brotherhood where they try to manipulate Mustang into doing human transmutation by injuring Hawkeye. I wondered what would happen if it was Ed they had captured instead. I actually had a plan to have a similar end to that scene, but instead decided to go this route. It's not that I think Ed would make Mustang weaken faster than Hawkeye did – this is just a completely different circumstance.**

**Timeline: Midseries (shortly before Promised Day)**

**Theme 70: Share**

_for DarkKittehKat and quinta essentia, who may have been expecting something different  
_

Pride's black tentacles wrapped around Roy's wrists and ankles, pinning him to the floor on hands and knees. He couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried, and the tiny black hands on the ends of the tentacles pressed his fingers flat against the cold ground, ensuring that he couldn't snap his fingers (not that that would have done much; they'd made sure to slash his gloves to ribbons) or even try to scratch circles in the floor with his nails. He was completely powerless.

Roy glared up at the man standing before him. He didn't know who he was, but he was obviously in league with the Homunculi, and the white lab coat suggested he was a scientist or doctor of some kind. The huge transmutation circle he had just finished drawing, which Roy knelt at the edge of, more than suggested he was an alchemist. The man's smile was eerie, a single gold tooth glinting ominously, but that might have been more due to his small, beady eyes pointing in opposite directions. He looked more than a little crazy.

"I'm sure you appreciate your situation, Colonel Mustang," the gold-toothed doctor said in his oily, satisfied voice. "You are completely at our mercy. But don't worry – we won't kill a precious human sacrifice before the time is right. No, we just need you to do a little human transmutation." He gestured at the large circle, which Roy realized belatedly looked similar to the circle he had found in the Elrics' house all those years ago.

"Why would you want me to do that?" he asked in genuine confusion.

"Oh, it's quite simple, really." From his tone, he could have been explaining multiplication tables. "No need to be nervous. We just need you to open the Gate."

Open the Gate? Roy thought back to Edward's explanation of what he had seen when he performed human transmutation – all the knowledge of alchemy anyone could desire. The prospect would have been tempting, except... Roy smirked. "And how the hell do you think you're going to convince me to perform a transmutation that I know won't work?"

The doctor's grin widened, and the light turned his glasses into opaque ovals, blocking his lopsided eyes from sight. "I was hoping you'd ask."

A chill ran down his spine at those words, but when they dragged in the prisoner his insides went completely cold. "Full Metal!" he cried, straining against Pride's grip even though he knew he would never break free.

Two of the old, tough fighters who had helped bring Roy down now dragged Edward, who was bound hand and foot, into the room and dropped him into the middle of the circle. The boy, of course, shouted profanities at them all the while and wriggled helplessly in his bonds. His arms were tied tightly to his sides, his hands bound flat against his thighs so there was no danger of him clapping.

Roy glared up at the doctor while Edward gradually fell silent, looking around and taking in his surroundings, eyes widening in horror with every passing second. "Let him go."

"Certainly...if you do as we ask."

Roy ground his teeth together, hating the creepy doctor more than ever. "You're asking me to perform human transmutation on my own subordinate?"

"Of course it needn't be him," the doctor said reasonably. "You may transmute whoever you'd like – your dead parents, perhaps your friend. What was his name again?"

Roy snorted. "There's no way I would transmute any of them – especially not when I have living proof that bringing the dead back to life never works."

The doctor smiled genially down at him. "Perhaps I'm not making myself clear, Colonel Mustang. You _will_ perform the transmutation. I just need to find the right incentive."

He nodded to one of the older men, and before Roy realized what was happening, the man's sword slashed forward and Edward jerked with surprise and pain. He gasped and choked, unable to even try to staunch the blood now gushing from his neck in a veritable torrent.

"Edward!" Roy shouted, straining harder than ever, but Pride would not yield. "Edward, can you hear me?"

The boy made a weird gulping sound as his blood spread in an ever-widening puddle in the center of the circle. His eyes were wide and fearful, but he still managed to croak out, "Don't. Don't...you...dare..."

"Ed, stay with me!" Roy called frantically. Even from the edge of the circle, he could see Edward's eyes shifting in and out of focus and wandering upwards. "I need you to pay attention, okay? Everything's going to be all right!"

"We all know that's not true," the doctor cut in comfortably, lacing his fingers together in front of him. "Edward Elric has only minutes left before he bleeds out. Trust me, Colonel Mustang. I'm a doctor. I know how much blood a body of that size contains."

That comment seemed to galvanize Edward for a moment. "'M fine...Colonel..." he mumbled through the blood now trickling between his lips as well. "Don' do it..." He mustered up a vicious glare that Roy could practically _feel_ burning into his eyes. "Don' you..." he spat out a mouthful of blood, "..._dare_ do human transm'tash'n." He didn't have to say the rest: _Or I'll kill you._

Roy swallowed hard, watching as Edward struggled harder and harder to breathe, and grew paler and paler as his blood seeped across the floor.

He was going to die. Roy's breath came short and fast, his eyes glued to Edward's that struggled to stay steady. Edward shook his head slightly, mouth screwed up in pain. Roy hung his head, swallowing painfully against the lump in his throat.

"All right," he murmured in defeat. "I'll do it."

* * *

Edward waited patiently by Mustang's bed for him to wake up. He spent the long minutes perfecting a long tirade detailing how stupid Mustang was for what he'd done, how many other options had been open to him, how much closer their enemies were to their goal now...

But once Mustang's eyes fluttered open and assessed his new surroundings, the only thing he could force out was, "Hey."

Hawkeye, sitting on the other side of Mustang's bed, fussed with his sheets. Edward, suddenly aware of how awkward he felt to meet Mustang's gaze, got to his feet and hurried to the door. "I'll tell the others you're awake-"

"Wait." Mustang's voice was a little hoarse, but other than that perfectly normal. Edward didn't like to admit how relieved he was to hear it.

Slowly, he turned back and saw Hawkeye helping Mustang to sit up. After curiously examining the bandaged stump of his forearm for a moment, Mustang met his subordinate's gaze again. "You don't approve of what I did...do you?"

Edward shuffled his feet and looked out the window instead. Anything to avoid having to look at that bandaged limb. Something else for them to share in common. "I'm not really in a position to complain about that, am I? You saved my life, so...thanks."

Mustang snorted. "You don't sound very grateful."

Finally, he faced the man again and glared at him. "No, I'm _not_ grateful that you sacrificed your right hand just to patch me up. It wasn't worth that."

He turned away again, but Mustang stopped him short with three words. "Yes you are."

Several loud ticks of the clock on the wall echoed around the silence in the room. "What else could I do, Ed?" he said quietly. "You were an inch from death, and this was the only way I could save you. One hand is a small price to pay for your life. What would you have done in my position?"

Edward had nothing to say to that. A few more loud ticks passed, and then he spoke in a voice little louder than a whisper, "Am I really that important to you?"

A long moment passed, in which Edward cringed inwardly, sure that Mustang was having second thoughts. But then he chanced a look over his shoulder, and the look on Mustang's face held him in place. It was so soft and warm. Almost disbelieving, as though Mustang couldn't understand why he would ask such a question.

And what Mustang said next somehow made everything all right, erased the guilt and lingering frustration, leaving in its place only peace.

"Yes."


	71. Every Once in a While

**Author's Note: When I was first asked to continue "Dozing," I was at a complete loss. That was already a short, simple idea; how could I possibly write any more in that scenario? That's why it's taken me so long to get back to that prompt, but I discovered while writing this that I actually had more to say than I originally thought.**

**Timeline: Right after "Dozing"**

**Theme 71: Every once in a while**

_for Victorious-Mind, who probably thought that I forgot  
_

Most of the time, Roy Mustang was wide awake when Edward Elric came to give a report. It was hard not to be, when the boy yelled at one of the other men's jokes about his height in the outer office, then kicked the door down and slammed it behind him. Besides, he wasn't anywhere near as lazy as everyone made it out to be – he _did_ get his work done on time for the most part, and if he occasionally dozed off in the warm afternoon sunlight, that was just because the paperwork was that dull.

But every once in a while, Edward managed to catch him sleeping when he reported in. When that happened, Roy could expect a rude awakening of some obnoxiously noisy nature, and a lot of laughter over how he was drooling, or snoring, or something ridiculous like that. Because he never drooled. Or snored. Ever.

Roy didn't like being caught asleep like that, so he did his best to remain alert on the days he expected the little brat. The only problem was that brats tended to completely disregard other people's wishes – even if they weren't so much wishes as _direct orders_ – and come in whenever they felt like it. Roy could never predict with much confidence when Edward would decide to show up; he would often forget or find another lead, or get done with the mission so fast it was like he had never been gone.

So waking up to find Edward bending over him, drawing mustaches and horns on his sleeping face, was not terribly surprising or uncommon. It just meant an excuse to chase the brat around his office rather than signing his name to various procedures he couldn't care less about.

Occasionally Edward fell asleep in Roy's office as well. Sometimes when he handed in a written report he would fall asleep on the couch while waiting for Roy to finish it. And sometimes he would look so exhausted and downtrodden, so weary of the world and its sorrows, that Roy would order him to take a quick nap before he went on his way. Edward usually grumbled, but complied gratefully.

But there had only ever been two occasions where both had fallen asleep. Once, Roy had dropped off after ordering Edward to take a nap, and didn't wake until Hawkeye came to rouse him to make sure he got his paperwork finished before she went home. By that time, of course, Edward had already left.

The second time, Roy fell asleep before Edward had even shown up, and woke to find the boy fast asleep on the couch. He was rather surprised that he hadn't woken from the door slamming, or from animated chatter in the outer office. Apparently, Edward was so exhausted this time that he couldn't dredge up the energy even for that. Roy quickly checked his reflection in the window to make sure Edward hadn't scribbled on his face again, but it seemed that he'd simply walked in and crashed on the couch.

Quietly, Roy pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching to get the kinks out of his back and neck. He really needed to stop doing this, if for no reason other than that he was tired of stiff necks. He tiptoed over to the couch and looked down at the skinny teenager stretched out on the green cushions, wondering whether he ought to wake him or let him sleep.

Edward sprawled over the couch, automail arm dangling off the edge and flesh hand pushing his shirt up, exposing his stomach. His shoes lay at the end of the couch, and his feet pushed against the armrest – one covered in a sock, the other glinting metallically. Seeing him stretched out like that, Roy was surprised to realize that he _had_ actually grown in the past few months. He could see the signs of wear and tear from the mission Edward had just come back from – a rip in his sleeve, scuff marks on his shoes, a messily bandaged cut on his cheek.

For several minutes, Roy stood observing his young subordinate. Edward looked so young, so exhausted...but so strong. His sleeping face betrayed a vulnerability Roy had rarely seen in him, because of how desperately he tried to prove himself. But behind that vulnerability, he knew, was the strength of steel. No matter how exhausting his journey became, he would keep picking himself back up and throwing himself into danger again until he reached his goal.

Roy picked up the red coat slung over the back of the opposite couch, and carefully covered the boy with it, moving slowly so as not to wake him. Then he sat down carefully behind his desk and let the boy sleep on. His job was to do his best to help Edward along his journey. He couldn't stop someone that stubborn and determined, but he could help Edward see it through to the end.


	72. Insect Repellent

**Author's Note: Okay, I readily admit that this chapter is one of the very worst I've come up with. I blame it on my hectic summer job and the impossible prompt D: I also managed to (very poorly) shove in a request I was coming up blank with every single time, so...two birds with one awful stone x.x Apologies, next chapter will be much better.**

**Timeline: Postseries (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 72: Insect repellent**

_for permanentscars, who deserves much better  
_

All Roy Mustang wanted to do was enjoy the sticky, sweltering August day as much as humanly possible. He sat in the coolest room in the Rockbells' house he could find, sipping the glass of lemonade Pinako had made and fanning himself constantly. Whose stupid idea was this, anyway? Going out east in the height of summer, just to visit the Elrics and Rockbells. He had far too much on his plate now that Fuhrer Grumman was relying on him more and more. By all rights, he should be back behind his desk, working on that peace treaty with Drachma.

"Try not to look so gloomy, Roy," his wife laughed as she passed through the room to the kitchen, balancing their baby boy on her hip. "This trip was your idea in the first place."

Roy grumbled to himself, downing the rest of his glass of lemonade. No matter how casual he'd tried to be about his suggestion to make a trip out to Risenpool, everyone still seemed smugly aware that he just missed having the old crew back together again. He got to see most of his old subordinates around Central now, as they crossed paths in their various duties, and he knew they were still working towards the same ideals. But there was always one he never got a chance to see.

With a great clattering and banging, the Elric brothers announced themselves. Roy knew without turning around who it was, because of the uneven footsteps making their way down the stairs _thunk-CLONK, thunk-CLONK._ When he did look up, Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow. Edward was wearing nothing but a bright red pair of swimming trunks, patterned with white skulls. Alphonse wore a shirt as well as his blue swimming trunks, and carried several cheerful beach towels and a plastic bucket of what looked like sand toys.

"Well, aren't _you_ looking all hot and bothered!" Edward sang out cheerfully, clapping Roy on the back. "C'mon, we're all going to swim in the lake, and you look like you could use it!"

"In the hottest part of the day?" Roy groused, though he had to admit the thought of swimming was highly appealing right now. "We'll all get sunstroke, and then you'll probably find a way to blame it on _me._"

"Oh come _on,_ quit being such a spoilsport!" Edward whined, tugging on Roy's arm as if to pull him out the door and all the way down the hill. "It's Al's first time swimming since he got his body back, so you _gotta_ come! At least stick your feet in the water or something, if you're that scared of getting wet."

"Who said I'm scared of getting wet?" Roy demanded, but no one was listening.

"Make sure you put on sunscreen," Winry advised, handing some to Edward.

"Aren't you coming too?" Edward asked a little too hopefully.

"I've told you before," Winry said primly, though with a hint of pink in her cheeks, "I don't want you ogling me until _after_ the wedding. And wear insect repellent too; you know how many mosquitoes come out in the evening."

She gave the spray bottle to Roy, ignoring the petulant look on Edward's face. "Excellent!" Roy cried, hefting the bottle. "Now I can ward off tiny, annoying pests!" He sprayed the insect repellent in Edward's face, making him cough and splutter.

"Are you _trying_ to kill me?!" Edward choked, waving his hands frantically to dispel the cloud of acrid spray. "And I'm almost as tall as you now, you know!"

"Operative word being _almost,_" Roy added with a smirk at the vein throbbing in Edward's temple.

As the three men made their way outside, bickering constantly, Roy realized that he felt utterly content. Everything was as it should be. Even later, when Edward demanded that he maintain a constant vigil around the napping Alphonse to make sure he didn't get so many bug bites that his face swelled up and he remained the laughingstock of the village for a month...Roy felt content. Despite all the work pressing on his conscience back in Central, he knew he was where he was supposed to be right now.


	73. Handmade

**Author's Note: At first, I tried to come up with something about automail for this prompt. It seemed the thing to do, and probably would have worked great if I was actually doing an EdWin 100 Themes :P But then I started wondering if maybe I could write something about Mustang having a weird hobby like whittling that he could teach Ed, and that made me think of Pinocchio...and by the time I realized what had happened, this was rattling around up there and had to be written down.**

**Timeline: None (AU)**

**Theme 73: Handmade**

There once was a carpenter who owned a shop in the city, where he sold all manner of wooden implements: tools, tables, chairs, dishes, even toys. He prided himself in his ability to carve wooden puppets, and sold many such toys for a high sum. He dreamed of one day being known throughout the land as the greatest toymaker who ever lived.

One day, he set about carving a new puppet from a block of wood. He decided, as he carved out the outline of the body, that he would make this one the best toy he had ever crafted. He spent every spare hour he could find for weeks on end, crafting this puppet with every ounce of skill he possessed. He spent the longest time on the head and face, creating a real nose and eyelashes, rather than simply painting them on as he usually did. He sewed real cloth garments for the puppet, finishing off the outfit with a fetching red coat to draw the eye. Finally, he gave the handmade boy yellow silk for hair and painted color into his little face.

After many hours of painstaking labor, the carpenter propped his new creation in his shop window, reflecting to himself that the little boy looked so real he could almost hop off the shelf. The only thing that dissatisfied the carpenter was some unnoticed mistake he seemed to have made while painting the boy's face. Though he had intended to give the boy a cheerful smile like all his other toys, this puppet always seemed to look a little angry.

Many people came into the carpenter's shop asking to buy the new puppet, for it was the most exquisite creation any of them had ever seen. But the carpenter always refused to sell it to them, for he was seeking the perfect owner. He could not bear to part with something he had worked so hard on to just anyone who walked into his store. No, it had to be the perfect person, someone who would be able to appreciate all of his hard work and ingenuity that had resulted in this masterpiece.

As time passed, fewer and fewer customers asked about the little boy in the window, for word had spread that it was not for sale. The carpenter was patient, knowing that the right person would come along eventually. In the meantime, he worked on his other, more common wares. Every day, when he took his little puppet down from its perch in the window to dust it, he would talk to it as though they were friends. At times, he almost thought the puppet had a personality of its own. When he would greet it as he picked it up, saying, "Hello again, little friend," he almost thought the puppet glared more fiercely than usual. He would tell it jokes and tease it, and the puppet almost seemed to smile.

He knew it was silly, but soon the carpenter began to think of the puppet as his friend. It was his creation, but more than that, it was a constant presence in his life. Though he would forget about it throughout the day as cares and toils took over his attention, as soon as he closed his shop his eyes would light upon the puppet in the window. He cared for it, put it in its place, and bade it goodnight at the end of every day.

After several months of this, the carpenter began to notice something different about the puppet. For a long time, he was unable to put his finger on what exactly had changed, but eventually he realized the puppet's eyes were different. At first he was afraid the paint had chipped or faded somehow, despite his care. But gradually he realized that it was the expression that subtly shifted, just as when he teased the puppet. But as he gazed into the golden eyes he had carved and painted with his own hands, he realized that now they looked sad.

"Why are you sad, little friend?" the carpenter asked the puppet in his arms. Of course the wooden toy could not respond, but frustration seemed to simmer right beneath the surface of the wood and paint. The carpenter pondered for a while, then tried to figure out what might make the puppet sad, no longer considering that puppets should not feel anything at all.

"Are you unhappy in the window?" the carpenter asked. "Would you rather sit inside the shop, where you can see everything that happens in here? Perhaps you tire of the view outside the window. Very well, we can move you to this table here."

He promptly moved the puppet and the stand to a table on one side that had recently been vacated since he had sold a set of wooden soldiers. The puppet still looked sad, but the carpenter decided to let it experience a day in the busy shop and see if that would cheer it up.

But the next night as he locked the doors and put his tools away, the carpenter picked up the puppet to dust it off, and realized the look of sadness in its eyes was stronger than before. He puzzled over this problem some more, trying to seek out the depths of those golden eyes. "Are you lonely?" he finally asked, brushing a few flecks of dust off the little red coat. "You're all alone here on this table, with only wooden spoons to keep you company. Here, what do you say to a new friend?"

He placed one of the other puppets he had on display next to the little boy, but the exquisite detail of his masterpiece made the other puppet look rough and bland by comparison. His little boy almost looked offended to be placed next to such a rudimentary toy. It was like asking a child to treat her doll as a real sister, when it could only sit in its chair and smile blandly at the opposite wall.

Hesitantly, the carpenter picked up the boy puppet and looked at its slightly sad expression. "You want a friend...don't you? A real friend. Very well."

He carried the puppet with him as he ascended the stairs to his living space above his shop. When he propped it up on the mantelpiece, stoked up the fire, and sat close to the fire to eat his meal, he looked up at the puppet. To his relief, the slight expression on the puppet's face was now content, almost smiling. The carpenter smiled back at it, and carried on a one-sided conversation as he ate.

Over the next few weeks, the carpenter received many inquiries from customers who noticed that the beautiful puppet had vanished from the window. The carpenter explained that it had not been sold yet, and ignored the shaking heads and confused looks people gave him when he told them where it now was. But the carpenter minded his own business, knowing that the puppet was in the right place. He brought it down every morning to sit in the shop, and took it up with him every night to rest on the mantelpiece.

But some people had set their eyes on the beautiful, expensive puppet no matter how many times the carpenter refused to sell it to them. The carpenter realized too late how much certain people had coveted his masterpiece. One night, he awoke with a start, hearing a crash from downstairs. He leapt out of bed and rushed down the stairs, fearing that robbers would carry off everything of value from his shop. To his confusion, no one was in the shop and nothing had been touched except for the shattered window.

Too late, he realized what this meant. Heart thudding in his throat, he raced back upstairs, just in time to see a thief leap out his upper window. The carpenter's eyes swept to the mantelpiece, immediately seeing that the thief had taken his puppet. With a roar of rage, the carpenter recklessly jumped out the window after the thief. He chased the man across the cramped rooftops of the surrounding buildings, heedless of the danger.

Finally he caught up to the thief, wrestling with him for the sack in which he had stuffed the puppet. In their tussle, they rolled right off the roof. Luckily, it was a low roof and they landed on a pile of dirty straw in the stableyard of an inn.

"Give him back!" the carpenter cried, beating the thief as hard as he could with his fists. "He's _mine!_"

"You insane fool!" the thief retorted, not releasing his hold on the sack. "What do you make puppets for, except to sell them? I would have gladly paid any price you named, but you still insist on finding the 'perfect owner' for this thing! So I saw that my only choice was to take it myself!"

"_I_ am the perfect owner," the carpenter said, realizing for the first time that it was true. "I know the effort I put into making him, and I know I can care for him better than any other. He is _mine._"

Just then, the door of the inn opened, spilling golden firelight into the courtyard as the owner emerged to see what the commotion was. With a curse, the thief drove a knife into the carpenter's side. He tried to pull the sack away, but the carpenter held on through the pain. The thief released his grip and disappeared into the night.

Clamping one hand over the gash in his side, the carpenter pulled his precious puppet out of the sack to make sure it was still intact. But his craftsmanship was good for more than just the beauty of the puppet. Though a little ruffled and mussed, the puppet was unharmed. It looked the same as ever, except that its eyes seemed a little wider than usual.

"Thank goodness," the carpenter breathed, holding his little boy close as darkness closed about him. He didn't notice that he had smeared his blood on the puppet.

* * *

The carpenter opened his eyes to find himself lying in a bed in what he surmised was a room of the inn. The owner bent over him, finishing up his task of seeing to the carpenter's wound. "Dreadful business," the innkeeper said when he saw his charge was awake. "A mugging right in my own courtyard! You were lucky your son was at hand, sir, or I mightn't have found you in the dark."

"What?" the carpenter asked in confusion, for he had never married or had children of his own.

But then a boy stood up from his seat by the fire, and walked over to the bed. The carpenter thought this boy looked familiar somehow, but couldn't quite place him. Why, the boy almost reminded him...of his little puppet. He met the boy's shockingly golden eyes, and felt a shiver run down his spine. How had this happened?

"You shouldn't have done that, Father. Run after me and gotten hurt like that."

Somehow, though the puppet had never spoken, this boy's voice sounded just like what the carpenter had imagined it would. "Of course I should have," the carpenter said, though he was still struggling to comprehend what had happened. "You're not something that can just be stolen. You're mine."

The innkeeper excused himself, seeing that his work was over for now. The boy sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the carpenter with the same look of mingled frustration and happiness that had been on the puppet's face many times. Then his smile widened and he said with suppressed excitement, "I'm a real boy now."

"How?"

The boy looked surprised. "It's because of you, of course. You created me with all your skill, and then you saw me as something more real than just a toy like all the others. You treated me like a real boy before I ever was, and that made me become real. Tonight...you fought to get me back as if I were...actually your son." He looked away, blushing.

"Well, my little friend," the carpenter said, pulling the boy close, "maybe you are."


	74. First Snow

**Author's Note: This was originally going to be the theme for the story of "Search," but then I got the idea for this, and I thought it would be nice to have a cheerful chapter like this.**

**Timeline: Episode 6 (first anime)**

**Theme 74: First snow**

Somehow, Edward knew the moment he woke that something was different. The quality of the early morning sunlight between the blinds was clearer, fresher somehow. He sat up, catching the eye of his brother who sat in the bed opposite. He could almost feel the waves of excitement fanning out from his steel body, and Edward immediately grinned in response. He surged upwards, flung aside the curtain, and crowed excitedly, "Snow!"

As though the word had summoned her, Nina burst into the room, still wearing her nightgown. "It snowed, Big Brothers!" she squealed, hopping up onto Edward's bed and pressing her nose against the window, bouncing a little.

"It snowed!" Edward agreed, bouncing hard enough to make Nina fall, screaming with delight, into the blankets. He scooped her up and leapt out of bed with her, setting her down on the floor as he hurried to pick up his clothes that lay scattered on the floor. "C'mon, Nina, hurry up and get dressed so we can go out and play!"

Alphonse insisted they have breakfast first, and Mr. Tucker insisted they bundle up a lot more than Edward thought was necessary, but finally the three children bounded outside with Alexander, into a world made clean and exciting with snow. Finally, the bitter cold of the past week was justified. This was the first snow they'd seen in Central, and snow was so rare in Risenpool that Edward and Alphonse were doubly excited. All thoughts of studying for the exam lay by the wayside as they pelted each other with snowballs, crafted snowmen and snow angels, and created beautiful ice sculptures with alchemy.

They lost all track of time until a car pulled up outside the gate, and the last person Edward wanted to see stepped out. He scowled, pausing in his task of creating a snow Alexander, and watched the man approach.

Mustang pushed the gate open and stepped through, arching a sardonic eyebrow. "Studying hard, I see."

"Aw, shut up, Lieutenant Colonel," Edward groused, absently packing snow together in his hands. "Give us a break already."

Mustang smirked. "Relax, short stuff. I'm just here to speak to Mr. Tucker about his assessment."

Edward's hands seemed to move of their own accord as Mustang passed. Everyone froze as the snowball collided with the back of Mustang's head in a loud _SMACK!_ Mustang stood where he was, unmoving, for several seconds that extended into eternity. Edward felt his stomach shrivel into a tiny ball. Had he gone too far? Was Mustang going to turn his powerful flame alchemy on _him_ this time?

But when Mustang suddenly moved, it wasn't to snap his fingers and burn Edward to a crisp. Nimbly, he bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and threw a hasty snowball straight at Edward's face. Edward sat back up, spluttering as Nina laughed and clapped her mittened hands.

The fight was on. It started as a traditional snowball fight, taking over the forts the brothers had created earlier. But somehow, by the time Mr. Tucker came out to call them in for lunch, they had devolved into shoving Mustang's face into the snow and dropping icy-cold clumps of snow down the back of Edward's shirt.

Surprisingly, Edward was almost sorry when Mustang stood up, brushing snow off his coat, and said, "I suppose I should get going."

But Mr. Tucker smiled and said, "Won't you join us, Lieutenant Colonel? It's only grilled cheese and tomato soup, I'm afraid, but you're most welcome."

Mustang hesitated a moment, and Edward was sure he would say he had a lot of work to do and couldn't waste his precious time. But Mustang glanced down at him, brushed a clump of snow off the top of his head, and smiled. "I suppose I can. We can have our discussion after lunch."

"Hooray!" Nina cried, and Edward couldn't agree more.


	75. Someday

**Author's Note: I suppose this stemmed from something I'm going through currently – which is not always a good thing for writing, but in this case it spurred me on to write a continuation of my "suicidal Ed series" as requested. I feel a lot like Mustang these days, and my internal Hughes needs to keep on encouraging me. His advice is inspired by a quote from Anais Nin, which I currently have sticky-noted on my desk as a constant reminder. If you haven't read them already and are curious, the previous installments in this series are **_**A Hundred Ways to Say You're My Brother**_** Chapter 5, "And I Won't Let Go," "Feel Like This Forever," and "Just Stay with Me."**

**Timeline: Midseries (a few months after "Just Stay with Me")**

**Theme 75: Someday**

_for SunshinePony37, who may have wanted something more, but unknowingly gave me exactly what I needed  
_

The hardest part was the waiting.

Roy wasn't afraid that Edward would try to kill himself again. He was confident that they'd managed to get it through his thick skull why he shouldn't. Hopefully, Edward had scared himself out of suicide, having stared down the metaphorical barrel of the gun several times without being able to go through with it.

But even though Edward had explained why he'd wanted to die, even though they'd got him to smile weakly and he'd apparently made it up to his brother, he was still so downtrodden. Roy tried his hardest to be patient, knowing that depression that dark and heavy couldn't just vanish overnight. It would take time, and constant effort, to pull him free.

Roy knew this because he'd felt the same way after Ishbal. He couldn't see the point in living when his soul was stained so black. Just like Edward, he'd been pulled from the brink right in the nick of time, and had eventually found his feet again. He'd managed to look up and see the world around him once he'd settled on a purpose, and eventually the colors had returned. Gracia's quiche no longer tasted like ashes in his mouth. He'd been able to look at Hawkeye and feel the sweet ache he used to.

But all that had happened years ago. Six months of depression were easily forgotten, when he pushed them to the back of his mind and focused on the present and future. Occasionally he would look back on that time, but the images that came to his mind were grainy and sepia-hued, like old photographs stored in a shoebox in the attic for too long. So now that he was faced with a sharp, vivid, bleak depression in Edward, he didn't know what to do.

He tried to be patient and gentle, knowing that Edward needed time. Even someone that resilient couldn't just bounce back that quickly. Roy kept tabs on him, mostly through Alphonse, and for a while Edward seemed to be getting much better. He followed leads with dogged determination, and focused on his studies with the same focus as ever. But though he smiled, he never laughed. Though he frowned, he never yelled. His banter was half-hearted at best, and on his worst days he would accept Roy's gibes with hunched shoulders as though he agreed.

Despite his best efforts, Roy grew impatient as the weeks turned into months, and Edward still seemed slumped in depression, still convinced he wasn't worth the air he breathed. He never seemed to improve or worsen, and Roy began to fear he would stay like this forever. How could he bear that?

As ever, Roy turned to Hughes in desperation. It took four glasses of whiskey to spill all his guts to his best friend, who sat in the shadowy booth with his first glass and a look of concerned sympathy as he listened. Roy trailed off once he started chasing his words in circles, and dropped his head in his hands. "What'm I going to do, Hughes? I can't...I just can't..." He felt a lump growing in his throat, and stopped talking before he made a scene. It was the alcohol, of course. Just the alcohol.

"Roy," Hughes said gently, wrapping his arm around Roy's shoulders and letting him lean against his comforting warmth. "You can't save him. No matter how hard you try, nothing you _do_ is going to make him better."

The sick weight in Roy's stomach twisted.

"You can't save people, Roy. You can only love them."

Roy rolled his head back a little to look his best friend in the eye. He knew Hughes was speaking from experience, from those long, dark days after the war when he pulled Roy from the abyss. For the first time, Roy wondered what those days had been like for Hughes. Had it been as hard as it now was with Edward? Had Hughes watched him continue with no apparent progress for months on end? Had he felt the same helpless despair that now uncoiled in Roy's chest?

Stupid alcohol. Now he was crying.

"Sorry," he sniffled, clumsily gripping Hughes's shoulder in a drunken attempt at a hug. "'M sorry..."

Hughes chuckled gently and ruffled Roy's hair. "What're you sorry for, you dork? The usual response is 'I love you too.'"

"Love you too..." Roy mumbled, mind too fuzzy to untangle his thoughts and put them into words. His mind returned to Edward, who was probably slumped in a chair somewhere feeling sorry for himself and wondering why he continued to care. "Love you too..."

"Stop beating yourself up about this, Roy," Hughes murmured in his gentlest of voices. "All you can do for now is be there for Edward when he needs you. Don't push him, or you'll only end up pushing him away. Someday, when all this is over, when Ed is himself again...he'll thank you for it. For being there, and letting him be as broken as he needs to be."

"Someday'll come...someday?" Roy knew that didn't make much sense, but he couldn't figure out how else to say it.

"Yes," Hughes said with all the conviction of a vow. "I know it will."

Roy nodded. "Take me home?"

Hughes laughed and pushed Roy upright again. "You betcha, lightweight. What're friends for?"


	76. Telephone

**Author's Note: Apologies for falling off schedule; I was on vacation, and I'll admit this fic was the last thing on my mind XD Don't worry, though, I'll post the next chapter a little early to make up for it. This one is just sort of dashed off really quickly, and as a result doesn't really meet the idea I had in my head. I've also unabashedly stolen my idea from Bookwrm389's awesome fic "Tempest," because I've been reading through her stuff lately and she does wonderful things with Parental!RoyEd. I tried to veer off in my own direction after the phone call, though.**

**Timeline: Midseries (after the Hughes incident, probably before the Ross incident)**

**Theme 76: Telephone**

Roy Mustang had just taken his first sip of his second cup of coffee that morning, and settled down at his desk after lingering in the break room as long as he dared. Hawkeye had shot him a dangerous look as he returned, knowing how little he wanted to be here on a Monday morning, but Roy was perfectly willing to work today. It was dim and rainy outside, which made the office with its fluorescent lighting rather cozy – almost cheerful, in fact. He had his caffeine, as well as the secret stash of leftover Valentine's chocolates in the bottom drawer of his desk with which he could reward himself after each stack of paperwork.

After sharpening every pencil he owned, reorganizing his paperclips, and creating a ball out of all the stray rubber bands in his drawers, Roy decided he should probably get started on his work. Hawkeye came into his office every hour like clockwork, so he needed to prove he was making headway or he'd never hear the end of it. She might even make him skip lunch again, a prospect he wasn't eager to repeat. So he hunkered down and got to work.

He was on his fifth page and actually starting to get into a comfortable rhythm when the phone rang. When he answered it, all he heard on the other end was heavy breathing. He scowled. "Full Metal, if you're so bored you're resorting to making prank calls, I can always give you-"

"Colonel, shut up and listen to me!" The boy's voice broke off as though he had caught his breath, and then the ragged panting returned along with several muttered curses.

Roy stiffened at the suspicion dawning on him. "Ed, are you...injured?"

"It's Scar!" Edward burst out, in between labored gasps of pain. "Look, send reinforcements, okay? I got his leg, but...I don't know how much longer I can last. I'm...kind of bleeding a lot."

His words sent icy fingers down Roy's back, especially because of how openly and blandly Edward was describing his situation. He would have to be desperate to admit to such weakness. "Where are you?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain level. "We'll come to you as soon as we can; just get yourself and your brother _away_ from there."

"Fifth and Elm," Edward cut in, his voice trembling in a terrifying show of weakness. "Colonel...he busted Al. Scar. He blew Al into a million pieces, and I...I don't know... He was trying to protect me...and I had to run...but I don't know if...if he's..."

"Ed." Roy cut through Edward's increasingly hysterical babbling, easily able to hear the pain and fear in his voice. "Edward, listen to me. You need to get _out_ of there, get to a hospital if you can. I'll come get you right away, and once we take care of Scar we'll find Alphonse-"

"No!" Edward suddenly shouted, cutting himself off with another pained curse. "No, Colonel, you can't go after Scar _now!_ Idiot, can't you see that it's pouring rain? Scar'll turn you into jelly in no time flat!"

Roy looked out the window and saw that Edward was right. Icy dread escalated into all-out panic. His subordinate was out in this deluge with the most dangerous killer on the loose, and he was unable to do a single thing. But he shoved all those thoughts aside and said, "Don't worry about me, Full Metal. Go. Now!"

The click of Edward hanging up was oddly anti-climactic, and Roy lunged for the door to the outer office as he imagined the boy rushing out of the telephone booth only a few blocks away. He sent the others on their way, making the necessary calls to send enough troops to deal with Scar. Hawkeye shot him a sharp look, but rushed off to lead the men to find Edward Elric. She knew Roy far too well, knew how it killed him to have to stay behind, but he knew better than anyone else how little he would be able to help when it was so wet outside. He would be unable to defend himself against Scar's powerful alchemy, especially because Scar would surely turn on him instead of Edward, since Roy was the one actually responsible for killing so many of the man's innocent kinsmen.

Flinging himself back into his desk chair, Roy clasped his hands under his chin and watched the raindrops sliding down his window. While he sat here, unable to help anyone, all of his men were running about the wet streets below, endangering their lives and hunting down the most dangerous criminal they'd ever had to face. How bad were Edward's injuries? If the boy who thought it was normal to be admitted to the hospital every other week said he was bleeding a lot, Roy had to assume it was pretty serious.

Suddenly he was confronted with another mental image. Another soldier, bleeding heavily, frantically calling him from a public telephone booth. Dying, slipping down the glass into a pool of his own blood...

Roy swore violently and grabbed his coat. The Lieutenant was going to kill him.

* * *

More blood dribbled between Edward's flesh fingers as he stumbled down the street, clutching the wound in his side in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. His ears were ringing so loudly every sound was muffled, and he kept swerving drunkenly as he ran, trying to keep his balance as the world dipped and spun all around him. Scar followed him at a frighteningly casual pace, hardly more than a brisk walk. They both knew Edward didn't stand a chance in his condition. It was only a matter of time.

And then it happened. Edward tripped, and as he fell the world blacked out for a second. When he came to, blinking furiously to clear his head, he found himself flat on his back, staring up at Scar brandishing his right hand. The man opened his mouth to say something, but then whipped his head up and hastily retreated.

Groggily, Edward managed to prop himself up on his elbows and looked around himself to see a blue-clad soldiers encircling them. Every gun was trained on Scar, and the soldier in the lead held two pistols at once.

"You're completely surrounded, Scar," Hawkeye said firmly, her hand not wavering as she aimed a pistol straight at his forehead. "Surrender, or-"

Because Scar stood behind Edward, he couldn't see the man move, but he felt the ground tremble beneath him as Scar dropped to the ground and transmuted an explosion under the street, blasting bits of asphalt and concrete in all directions. Several soldiers fired, but the troops were forced to retreat several steps or suffer the injuries caused by half the street raining down on them.

In those few moments of chaos, when even Hawkeye lost track of their target, Scar lunged over to Edward, clamping his right hand over Edward's face with terrifying strength. Edward thought briefly that this man could probably crush his skull with his bare hands, even without the help of alchemy. But Scar never had a chance to prove it. A single shot rang out, and Scar jerked back with a cry of pain, clutching his right shoulder that gushed blood from a fresh wound.

Two more swift shots echoed through the rain, one grazing past Scar's leg and the other flying wide of the target. With a grimace of pain and rage, Scar planted his hand against the ground again. "We'll meet again, Full Metal Alchemist." He blasted a hole in the street, and by the time the dust had cleared, he was long gone.

Edward cast his wavering gaze in the direction the shots had come from: a nearby rooftop. A single silhouette moved away from the edge and out of sight, carrying a rifle with it.

Strong arms lifting him up and jostling him about brought Edward round again, and he realized he must have blacked out again. "Hurts," he hissed, weakly protesting against the violent swaying movement that seemed to tear every muscle in his body in half. With colossal effort, he pried his eyes open and saw that Mustang was carrying him, half jogging with a weird look on his face.

"Idiot," he gasped, clutching his wound again.

Mustang looked down at him in surprise, but he kept moving. "What? Don't try to talk; we're nearly there."

"You weren't s'posed to leave the office. It's raining."

"For your information, I just saved your life, Full Metal. I think I deserve thanks, not a lecture."

"Yeah, yeah..." Suddenly Edward remembered something that made him shiver violently. Mustang looked down at him sharply, then sped up. The jostling grew worse, and for a few minutes it was all Edward could do to breathe. His teeth were chattering, but he forced out, "Al! Quick, you've gotta get to Al! The rain...his blood seal..."

"Front pocket."

For a moment, Edward didn't understand what he meant. Then he lifted his left hand to Mustang's chest. His fingers left bloody streaks on Mustang's shirt, but he could feel a cold, familiar curve of metal. "Al?"

The voice was muffled, but it was _there,_ and that was what mattered. "I'm okay, Brother. Just try to relax; Mustang's getting you to the hospital."

Edward let out a sigh of utmost relief, finally letting himself relax completely in Mustang's arms, even though he was still shivering all over. He looked up at the colonel's face once more before letting the darkness claim him. "Guess you're not _completely_ useless."


	77. Unsaid

**Author's Note: I'll admit that I got the idea for this chapter from the corresponding chapter of TobuIshi's EdWin 100 Themes fic. Arakawa-san is the master of subtle messages; there are so many characters who are able to hide what they really mean in seemingly frivolous conversation. Ed and Mustang are one such duo, and I thoroughly enjoyed exploring this angle. Still, despite how short this chapter is, it was insanely hard for me, because I've always found extended banter really hard to write. A teasing line or two I can handle, but a whole conversation consisting of gibes and insults? Ugh, I thought I'd never get this the way I wanted it.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 77: Unsaid**

Oh great, it's Colonel Fancypants again. Should've known you were behind the train delays.

_Colonel! Great to see you again; I've missed you._

Ah, if it isn't Full Metal. Have you lost weight? No, maybe you've just gotten shorter...

_Hello, Ed. How've you been?_

WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO TINY HE WOULDN'T EVEN WEIGH A SINGLE GRAM ON A MEASURING SCALE?!

_You know – same old, same old. I'm doing okay._

I hear you've demolished yet another rural village. I take it you didn't find what you were looking for and threw a tantrum like a five-year-old?

_I was worried about you when I heard what happened. Any success?_

Oh, shut up. Could I help it that the guy liked transmuting explosives out of the ground? Sheesh, it's like you're _trying_ to get me killed.

_Nope, another dead end. What's new?_

Well, I hope you're not too worn out from all the yelling and running around for your next assignment. I informed my superiors I had someone in mind to send in and settle the situation, and I'd hate for you to embarrass the both of us.

_Don't give up yet. I've found another lead for you, a promising one this time._

Figures. You always send me out to do your dirty work so you'll look good to the higher-ups. Angling for another promotion already?

_Thanks. Any closer to your own goal?_

Always, Full Metal. After all, we can't _all_ go around visiting the beaches and tourist resorts. Some of us have serious work to do.

_I'm working on it. Closer every day. Don't worry about me; I'll be Fuhrer before you know it._

Serious work, my foot. I bet once we get back to your office we'll find all your papers are made into airplanes. Speaking of which, can we _go_ now? I'm cold, and I'm hungry.

_So how about that lead?_

Tsk, tsk. Better curb that temper, Full Metal, or people will think you're a bratty teenager who whines until he gets his way.

_Come back to the office. I'll fill you in and you can be on your way by tomorrow morning._

I AM _NOT_ A BRATTY TEENAGER!

_Thanks._

No one had any trouble hearing what was said on the outside, and they all assumed that was all there was to hear. Only two people heard the unsaid words in this conversation...but they were the only ones who mattered.


	78. Equal

**Author's Note: If you couldn't tell from the last time I tried to do this, I actually find it really hard to write fluffy happy chapters about everybody having a big happy family :P Just be glad I don't write about the next generation too much in this fic, or all the Elric and Mustang children would be writhing around on the ground in pain and anguish XD But ANYWAY, this is happy, I promise! I think I may have subconsciously drawn on some adorable fathers at a cookout I went to recently :3 Oh, also note that rather than my usual OC ideas for their children, I'm following the headcanon of the Full Metal Legacy comic down at the deviantART Risembool Rangers, because it's tons of fun.**

**Also...I just have to mention this... The other day I happened to notice that I've exceeded _one thousand reviews_ on this fic O.O I am _floored,_ you guys! Thank you so much for your support, your dedication to this fic. A huge thanks to all of my regulars who review most chapters, and to the new ones who've just found this. You make my silly whims worthwhile :)**

**Timeline: Postseries (specifically Brotherhood)**

**Theme 78: Equal**

_for Victorious-Mind, who was probably asking for something else :P  
_

"For every action," Edward said smugly, "there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you really think Newton's law applies in this situation?"

"Oh, please!" came an exasperated cry from the bedroom. "Trust a couple of _alchemists_ to bring Equivalent Trade into every conversation."

"Shut up, Win!" Edward retorted, calling down the hallway. "You're supposed to be exhausted from the one thing alchemists can never do! Go to sleep!"

"_You_ shut up!" she yelled back. "You're supposed to be lulling Trisha to sleep, not yelling at the top of your lungs!"

If he didn't know the Elrics so well, Roy would probably have feared for their marriage, but he could see the goofy grin on Edward's face, and could hear the weary smile in Winry's voice as well. There was no heat behind their angry words, only fondness and excitement for the newest addition to their family.

"She's got a point, you know," Roy said, watching Edward gazing adoringly down at his newborn daughter. "You can hardly claim this is Equivalent Trade, when you've got _two_ children to my one."

"Yeah, well..." Edward tried to give him a pout, but it was ruined by his affectionate glances down at Trisha. "You got a head start anyway..."

Suddenly Roy became aware of something poking him sharply in the knee. He looked down and saw little Aaron stabbing him repeatedly with a toy sword, a look of intense concentration on his chubby face. He looked up at Roy and declared, "I'm da Fameddal Alkumith, and you're a bad guy!"

Roy bent down to look the toddler in the eye and said, "Oh yeah? How come I'm the bad guy?"

Aaron gave him a look that was shockingly familiar, a look of affronted determination. "'Cuz you got bwack hair, _duh._"

Roy held back a laugh, though he shot a meaningful glance at Edward, who shot him an identical scowl. Then Roy mustered up the most evil leer he could think of, and wiggled his fingers at Aaron. "Oh yes, I'm the Flame Alchemist, the most evil alchemist who ever crossed the face of the earth!"

Shrieking with pleasure, Aaron raced away from Roy, who chased him around the room with exaggerated footsteps like a giant. Eventually he caught the little boy and tickled him into submission. Thankfully, Edward had retreated with the baby already. He came back into the living room as Roy was hanging Aaron upside-down from his ankles in the dungeon, and said with a chuckle, "Okay, tiger, time for bed."

"No!" Aaron wailed, and Roy groaned inwardly. He had to fight this same battle with Maes every night. But instead of the usual protests, Aaron said, "I can't go ta bed 'cuz I'm in da dungeon! You gotta save me fwom da bad guy, Daddy!"

A dangerous glint entered Edward's smile as he clapped his hands together. "Get your hands off my son, you monster!" he yelled, throwing his hands against Roy's chest.

Roy let out an agonizing cry as the alchemy tore through his flesh, and he tossed Aaron carefully onto the couch before falling dramatically on the floor. Aaron giggled as his father scooped him up, but he squirmed until Edward let him down again. "Okay, time for bed, buddy, I mean it."

"Okay, Daddy." But before following Edward out of the room, Aaron ran over to his fallen enemy and squatted down next to him. "I wike you," he whispered loudly.

Roy opened one eye and looked up at the little boy. "I like you too," he whispered back.

With another babyish giggle, Aaron scampered after his father to get ready for bed. As Roy picked himself up from the floor, he wondered if Edward had been at all like that when he was a toddler. He crossed over to the bulletin board filled with family photos – recent ones, but also ones of the Elric brothers and Winry growing up, right back to baby pictures.

Funny. Maybe it was just playing with Aaron, or his own experiences as a father...but he almost wished he'd been there to watch Edward grow up.


	79. Are You Drunk?

**Author's Note: Once again, I prove my complete inability to write a happy, funny chapter; this one wound up being angsty too :P I drew inspiration from a fic I read a long time ago where Mustang found Ed smoking a cigarette and gave him a lecture.**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 79: 'Are you drunk?'**

Roy liked to stop at a bar after work every now and then, to take the edge off a stressful day. When he needed to get some serious work done, he would go to Madame Christmas' place where he could covertly dig for information that would push him closer to his goal. But when all he wanted was a drink or two to relax, or when he wanted to spend some time with the men outside of work, he would frequent one of the bars a few streets over from Central Command.

One day, he stepped inside to find the place crowded with soldiers as usual. One group of new recruits was particularly rowdy in the corner, so he decided he would keep it short this time. But as he drew closer to the bar, he saw a familiar back and stopped short.

Surely he was seeing things. Surely there was another young man in this city who was tremendously short and wore his blonde hair in a long braid... Numbly, Roy slid into the seat next to him at the bar and ordered a brandy. He looked at his hands, clasped on the cold surface in front of him, and asked, "So...come here often, Full Metal?"

Edward looked up groggily, and Roy saw to his concern that the boy's cheeks were flushed and his eyes unfocused. "When joo get here?" he asked in a slurred voice.

"Full Metal...are you...drunk?"

"'Course not!" Edward tried to swivel around to face him, but only ended in slipping off the chair and falling to the floor with a loud clunk.

Roy blinked at him, unable to get past the shock of seeing a fifteen-year-old in a place frequented by such an older clientele. While Edward struggled to get upright again, Roy leaned over the counter and asked the bartender, "Are you aware that you've just been serving alcohol to a _minor?_"

The bartender gulped, sliding Roy's drink towards him. "Well, Colonel sir...I thought he looked a bit young, but...but he showed me his silver watch, sir! And I figured...a State Alchemist..."

"Nooooot shoooort..." Edward burbled, finally making it to his seat again and slumping against the counter next to his empty glass.

The bartender eyed him uncertainly. "He didn't drink that much..."

Roy ran a hand over his face wearily. "As a teenager with his body weight, he would get inebriated more quickly."

With his cheek still plastered to the counter, Edward slapped his glass down. "'Nother round!"

"No," Roy cut in, grabbing him by the collar of his black shirt and yanking him upright. "I'm taking you home. I'll pay his tab as well," he added to the bartender, giving him a meaningful glare. "I'll let you get off with a warning this time, but if you ever sell alcohol to minors again, I'll see to it that your little establishment folds immediately."

"Y-Yes sir." The bartender scurried to tally up the bill, and Roy gulped down his drink in one. He'd need it to deal with this nightmare.

Still clutching Edward's collar – more to keep him upright than to stop him from getting away – Roy made his way outside again, and set off down the street. But they hadn't made it very far when Edward mumbled, "Gonna be sick..."

Roy practically threw him at the nearest alleyway and waited with a grimace until the boy had regurgitated all of that alcohol into the shadows. With a groan, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sank to the ground, leaning against the wall of the bar. Letting out an irritated huff, Roy squatted down beside him, looking at the boy's glazed, sweaty face. "This is your first time drinking, isn't it?"

Edward shrugged, which Roy took to mean 'yes.'

"Well, maybe now you'll show a little restraint. Know your limits, and don't surpass them. That way you won't have a hangover in the morning."

Edward groaned again. "How'm I gonna essplain this t' Al?"

Roy frowned. "He doesn't know where you are?"

"Told'm I was goin' for a walk."

Well, that explained one thing, at least. There was no way Alphonse would have allowed Edward to so much as stick one foot inside a bar. "What's going on, Ed? Why the secrecy? Don't tell me you were just curious to see what it was like..."

Edward gave him a shadow of his usual withering glare. "Don' be ssstupid. I jus'...wanned to forget for a bit."

"Forget?" Roy watched Edward rest his head against the wall behind him and look up at the moon peeking between the rooftops. And then he remembered the report Edward had given him earlier that day – yet another failure, yet another dead end, yet another return to square one. It seemed they would never get any closer to restoring their bodies.

"Ed...drinking isn't the answer. Drowning yourself in alcohol until you pass out... All that's going to do is get you addicted, and probably kill you. And I'm not going to let you squander your whole life like that."

"Yeah? Wassit to you?"

Irritated, Roy stood and pulled Edward to his feet as well. "I'm your superior, and better yet, I'm your friend. Now come on, my car's just around the corner."

Edward stumbled a few steps, weakly trying to pull his arm out of Roy's grip. "No...I don' want...Al t' see me like this..."

Roy rolled his eyes. "You probably should've thought of that _before_ getting plastered." But he looked at Edward's miserable expression and sighed. "All right, you can sleep it off on my couch. But I'm going to tell your brother about this whether you like it or not. I can make it sound like you just had one drink before I stopped you, but he needs to know so you won't do something stupid like this again."

"Yeah, whatever..."

Which Roy took to mean _Thank you for saving my sorry hide once again._


	80. Paradox

**Author's Note: Well, this turned out to be quite a bit longer than I expected :D It was probably a mistake to try to fit two requests together, but I just couldn't get rid of the idea once it took hold. I'll just go ahead and call this an AU, because I don't think there's any way the canon could follow from this, but I'm intending this story to happen around the beginning of the story proper, before things really blow up. As for the last section...well, just assume that the Homunculi made a miscalculation or some other factors came into play to change their plans for these characters. I should probably also mention that I drew inspiration for the first section from Sevlow's amazing, traumatizing fic "Forgiveness."  
**

**Timeline: Midseries (AU)**

**Theme 80: Paradox**

_for Syra Sunn and BlackSoul, who had intriguing ideas_

It was surprisingly easy to slip into the Ishbalite slum. There were so many half-Ishbalite kids running around after the unthinkable abuses of the war that no one looked at you twice as long as you carried one or two of the right features. There wasn't anything Edward could do to make his golden eyes look blood-red, but he found that it wasn't much of a problem in conjunction with hair dyed black and skin darkened with a concoction he'd transmuted on the way. With his tell-tale automail covered in the ratty robes he'd bought from an Ishbalite beggar two towns over, no one even suspected that the Full Metal Alchemist was in their midst.

After over a month of wandering from one slum to the next, Edward found that he didn't even have to fake his exhausted shuffle anymore. It had been so long since he'd slept in a real bed, or eaten a square meal, or even enjoyed a real shower. But he plodded onward between the rickety shacks cobbled together from whatever scraps people had been able to find from what the Amestrians had thrown away. Because this was the place.

There wasn't anything about this particular slum that stood out to Edward in any way, but if he could believe the few whispers he'd heard, he was finally getting closer to his goal. He was almost afraid of what he would find, but he pushed such thoughts aside. Unimportant.

As soon as he got a good look at the slum, Edward knew where he needed to go. As usual, most of the makeshift houses huddled together, doorways opening towards the center of the slum, where they would sell what goods they had and gather to say their morning and evening prayers to Ishbala. But this time, Edward spotted another shack up on one of the hills surrounding the slum, far enough removed that it would be out of earshot, but not so far that it couldn't be considered part of the community.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Edward made sure no one was paying undue attention to him, and slipped between the huts to make his way to the surrounding hills. He wondered if the rest of the slum was in on it, or if they had no idea. If his suspicions were even right... But he tried not to think about it too much.

Soon, he crept through the bushes towards the hut on the hill. His eyes narrowed when he saw a dark-skinned man lounging a little too casually against the wall next to the door. A rifle was propped against the wall within easy reach, and Edward was willing to bet his pocket watch that it wasn't there in case a rabbit ran past.

He crouched in the underbrush, considering his next move, when he heard a sound that made every muscle in his body go rigid. It was easy to hear what was going on in the little hut, since the walls and roof were made of corrugated iron sheets that had been slapped together haphazardly. A voice from inside the hut cried out – a broken voice, filled with pain. Edward couldn't make out the words, but he understood the tone, and that was all he needed.

The guard at the door fell without a sound, bound and gagged with strips of the ground he stood on. The man struggled, red eyes wide with fear and confusion as Edward silently dashed over to him, grabbing the rifle and pressing his back against the wall. He could hear the rumble of voices from inside the hut, but they didn't seem to have noticed anything, so he took a moment to catch his breath before finding a hole where two walls met unevenly.

It was bright outside, so it took Edward a moment to see anything, but when he did his stomach churned within him. The hut had no floor and its only furnishings were a few crates and blankets, like many Ishbalite huts Edward had seen over the past month. Three Ishbalite men, all of whom bore the obvious effects of the war, stood around a fourth man tied to a metal pole stuck in the ground. His shirt was gone and his head was bowed, but Edward would recognize him anywhere.

Even as Edward watched, one of the Ishbalite men lifted his one remaining hand and pulled Mustang's head up roughly by the hair, shouting in his face something about payback for his brothers' painful deaths. Edward's ears were ringing so loudly everything else was reduced to an indistinct rushing sound. Mustang looked awful – two black eyes, blood and dirt caked all over his face. Then the Ishbalite stomped down on what Edward presumed was Mustang's hand, and Mustang _screamed._

For a moment, Edward was so paralyzed with shock he could barely breathe. He'd never heard such a sound from his commanding officer before – such a raw, agonized, _fearful_ sound. Like the sound of a kicked dog who knew he would be kicked again.

Edward's teeth ground together as he tossed the rifle aside and clapped his hands, no longer caring if the men inside heard him or not. Before the Ishbalites could react, the walls and floor buckled in on them, twisting into impossible shapes, creating enormous fists that smashed into their faces and knocked them over. The metal fused with the ground beneath them, trapping them in the same way as their guard.

Edward straightened and kicked the nearest one as he passed. "I'll leave you for your friends to collect you. If you even have any."

But then he ignored the others and rushed over to Mustang, who was still tied to the pole Edward had left alone in his transmutation. The man looked even worse close up. His left eye was swollen nearly shut and his nose was so crooked it looked as though it had been broken multiple times. His chest was littered with bruises and scrapes, most of them in the shape of heels, as though he'd been kicked around a lot.

At first, all Edward could do was stare at Mustang, torn between relief and horror. Then he shook himself from his reverie and knelt swiftly down to untie him. Mustang, who had been slumped against the pole with a glazed look in his eye, jerked in alarm at the sudden motion and hunched his shoulders, weakly raising his arms to shield his face.

"Hey, it's...it's okay, it's me." Edward realized that Mustang probably wouldn't recognize him in his Ishbalite disguise, so he added, "It's Ed. I've come to save your sorry hide, so you better thank me with a nice fat raise when we get back to East HQ."

With every word, Mustang relaxed a little more, turning his head at last to meet Edward's eyes. "Full Metal...?" he croaked in a voice torn and broken.

Edward tried to smile encouragingly, but it turned into a grimace as he glanced over all the injuries on Mustang's face. Ducking his head, he focused his attention on getting Mustang loose. Rage boiled underneath the surface when he saw how the Ishbalites had bound him. Instead of tying his hands around the pole like normal criminals, they'd attached a chain to a collar that fit snugly around his neck like he was a dog. Like he was less than a man.

Mustang flinched when Edward turned his arm into a sword, but soon the collar was gone and Mustang was free. At first Edward couldn't understand why they'd left Mustang's hands free, but when he started to help Mustang to his feet, he caught sight of them and understood in a moment of sickening realization.

Mustang's right hand was intact, covered by one of his ignition-cloth gloves. But his left... If it hadn't been attached to his arm, Edward would have had a hard time believing it _was_ a hand. The skin was raw and blistered, burnt and twisted and oozing. A smell he'd been aware of from the beginning, which he'd initially associated with the stench that hung around every Ishbalite slum he'd visited, suddenly assaulted his senses again, and he realized now what it was.

After hastily pushing Mustang at the pole so he could hang onto something for balance, Edward turned away and emptied the contents of his stomach on the ground. Even when he was retching and choking on nothing, he couldn't get rid of the smell of _meat._ Roasted, burnt human flesh.

Finally, he spat the sour taste out of his mouth and ran a grimy sleeve across his mouth. He turned to look at Mustang, who was hanging onto the pole with his good arm and cradling his burnt hand close to his chest, almost self-consciously. For a moment, they just looked at each other as the full weight of what had happened settled on them both.

"Come on," Edward said, looping Mustang's good arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you out of here."

* * *

He was a failure.

Roy leaned his forehead against the cool, damp tile of the shower wall and tried to force his breathing back under control, to slow his heartbeat, to stop the shivers running all up and down his bare skin even though the bathroom was filled with steam.

He'd given himself plenty of time. Whole months had passed since his kidnap and month-long torture, and every wound in his body had healed. Even his left hand, which had taken several delicate surgeries, weeks of bandages, and constant threats of amputation to become the gnarled, twisted, but healed claw he stared at now. It was so scarred and torn that it was mostly useless; with effort, he could close his fingers in a semblance of a fist, but they weren't good for much besides holding his knife at mealtimes.

And he'd thought he was doing pretty good. The nightmares stuck around – of course, his sleep had never been completely devoid of nightmares since Ishbal – but at least he'd stopped bolting upright in the middle of the night, screaming. That had been embarrassing, even after he'd returned to his own home where there was no one to hear. After several weeks of everyone worrying and fussing over him, everyone had seemed to relax as he recovered. He could smile and laugh again, order the men around, smirk at Edward and taunt him about his height...everything was normal again.

Except it wasn't. Even though he'd returned to his work in the office, covered his useless left hand in a glove (black; whether symbolic or just because he couldn't stand the color white anymore, he didn't know), and scratched away at paperwork as usual, he felt like an alien in his own skin. No one else seemed to notice – though he thought Hawkeye might suspect; she'd known him the longest, and was also one of the most observant people he'd ever known.

Still, no matter what anyone suspected, no one could see him now, huddling in the corner of his own shower, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the memories. But even against the darkness of his own eyelids, he seemed to see that luminous shape rising before him, like a specter of his own failures.

"Stupid," he choked out, his whisper echoing hollowly around the bathroom. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." He banged his forehead against the wall and forced himself to pry his eyes open. There it was, the little ashtray with the tiniest scrap of paper in the middle, sitting on the floor of the shower where he could easily extinguish it if necessary. Then, as if moving of their own accord, his eyes dropped to his hand in his lap. His right hand, enclosed in the familiar rough cloth of his gloves, the transmutation circle he knew better than his own name, fingers poised to snap like they had a thousand times before...

_You see what you have done to us, Flame Alchemist? What you have done to our people?_

_Amestrian dog! You think nothing of slaughtering thousands of innocent children!_

_Come, brothers. Why don't we give him a taste of his own medicine?_

With a desperate sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream, Roy ripped the glove off his hand and tore it into shreds. He threw everything – cloth, ashtray, and all – into the trash can and fled. His trembling fingers tried to fumble through the motions of getting dressed, but halfway into his pants he had to sit on the floor and try to slow his breathing down.

_Think about something else. Anything._

But thoughts of Hawkeye only made him think of the ugly mark plastered over her back and the birth of the monster inside him. Thinking of the periodic table only made him think of _oxygen_ and _combustion_ and _gases mixing, volatile, ready to burst into flame with a mere spark._ Even staring intently at the boring wall in front of him made him think of another wall, made of corrugated iron, indistinct in the dim light, suddenly flashing with a burst of flames from his hand...

Roy curled in on himself on the floor of his bedroom, unable to even dress himself normally. He was nothing but a freak. A paranoid murderer who was so useless he should have just died in that hut at the hands of his enemies. Why did Edward have to save him in the first place? He was pathetic.

The Hero of Ishbal. The Flame Alchemist. Colonel Roy Mustang.

He couldn't decide if he was laughing or crying.

* * *

Roy knew he couldn't let on to anyone around him about his phobia. It wasn't just a matter of pride or shame; this could very well spell the end of his ambitions. They probably couldn't discharge him over something like this; after all, he was still perfectly capable of pushing paper (as Hawkeye seemed determined to prove daily). But what would happen to his dreams of becoming Fuhrer, if it became public knowledge that the renowned Flame Alchemist couldn't so much as look at his gloves anymore?

The downside to his little secret, of course, was that no one knew how vulnerable he truly was. Not even Hawkeye, no matter what her suspicions might be. As the months rolled past and he seemed to be doing fine, everyone probably thought he was his old self again. The same confident, charismatic soldier and leader they all looked up to.

So when the Fuhrer called him in for a briefing on a new field mission, how could he refuse?

It was to Roy's surprise (he dared not call it relief) that he found Edward sitting in a chair when he arrived at the Fuhrer's office. After saluting the Fuhrer and being offered a chair of his own, Roy allowed himself a curious look at the boy, though the latter didn't seem surprised. Presumably the Fuhrer had already filled him in about who his partner would be.

Roy hadn't seen much of Edward since his recovery; he and Alphonse had set off shortly after he'd left the hospital so they could pursue a lead they'd abandoned to search for him. Though neither of them had said anything about it, Roy was touched and grateful at what they'd given up for him. It would have been perfectly understandable if they'd gone ahead with their quest and left the search for the military. But...if they hadn't dropped everything they had to look for him...Roy might not have lived to see this day. And no matter what he might think in his darker moments of self-loathing, he was grateful for that.

The Fuhrer brought him back to the present by sliding a folder across the desk to them. "I assume you're both familiar with this man?"

Roy drew his breath in sharply when he saw the mug shots, but Edward leaned in closer and frowned. "Zolf J. Kimbley?" he asked in a scornful tone. "That's a weird name."

"The Crimson Alchemist," the Fuhrer said mildly. "As I'm sure Colonel Mustang is well aware, he was one of the State Alchemists who took part in the Ishbal War. He was a great asset to our army, but unfortunately the stress of war addled his mind. He killed a number of his own soldiers and several senior officers, and has been incarcerated in Central Prison for the past six years."

Roy's stomach clenched into a tight ball. He knew what was coming next.

The Fuhrer looked gravely at them both, lacing his fingers together on top of the desk. "Last night, he broke out of prison, killing several guards and fellow inmates in the process. He has since disappeared to the east, leaving a trail of destruction behind him. All attempts to intercept him have only resulted in more casualties. Therefore, I am sending you, my top combat alchemists, to apprehend Kimbley." His voice became a low growl. "I give you permission to shoot to kill."

Edward gulped audibly, and Roy could already hear a thousand protests running through the boy's mind. Personally, Roy had hoped to never see Kimbley's sleek, sly face again. Roy had only heard of Kimbley's insanity secondhand, but the man had been disturbing enough before his mental breakdown, and he didn't like to think what he would be like with no inhibitions left.

Besides...Kimbley's alchemy had been on par with his own. Their subordinates used to argue with each other over which one would win in a fight, like schoolboys squabbling over trading card statistics, and Roy had been fervently glad that he wouldn't have to find out who was right. Now...he knew he was doomed.

After only a few more minutes of instruction, the Fuhrer dismissed the two alchemists, and they left the office side by side. Cold dread churned within Roy's stomach as they walked down the hallway; he felt as though he were walking to the gallows.

"So this Kimbley guy," Edward spoke up, flipping through the pages of the file they'd been given. "You'd heard of him before?"

"I worked with him," Roy said shortly. "We were in charge of the eradication of the same sector at the very end of the Annihilation."

Edward closed the file with a snap. "Okay, his human explosion thing looks kinda nasty, but that shouldn't be a problem. You can just turn him to charcoal from a mile away and we should be good. Back in time for dinner."

Roy said nothing. Shame and fear twined around his throat, choking all the words he suddenly wished he'd said long ago.

* * *

Unfortunately, it didn't take long to find Kimbley. As the Fuhrer had indicated, a line of demolished buildings and exploded bodies pointed directly to him. The only reason he hadn't been caught yet was that no one could get close enough without being blown to bits. Roy and Edward followed this path of destruction out of Central City until finally they found the man himself standing in an open field, waiting for them.

Roy came to a stop close enough to carry on a conversation, but hopefully far enough that they'd be able to dodge his attack. At a glance, Edward came to a stop a little apart from him, muscles tense and ready for battle. For all of his bravado, he'd read the file. He knew what Kimbley was capable of.

It had been years since Roy had set eyes upon one of his least favorite men in the world. Prison didn't seem to have changed him much; he was a little thinner than before, and days-old stubble sprinkled his smooth chin. He was used to the man dressing in smart suits or an immaculate military uniform, but now drab prison clothes hung loosely off his skinny frame. But he still displayed palms marked with transmutation circles, and he still graced Roy with a sardonic, self-satisfied smile.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking you to come quietly?" Roy called, his voice sounding much calmer than he actually felt.

Kimbley just chuckled. "I knew they'd send you soon enough, Roy Mustang. Central's favorite dog – and his little pup!"

Edward bristled at the word _little,_ and took a breath to respond, but Roy quickly spoke over him. Now was no time to be losing their heads. Kimbley would take advantage of any moment of inattention. "Don't think that I'm going to show you any mercy just because we once worked together."

Kimbley smiled coolly. "Oh, you misunderstand me. I wanted Bradley to send you after me, because I felt like we had...unfinished business."

Warning bells went off in Roy's mind, but he couldn't think of anything to say except, "What do you mean?"

"You just seemed so _torn up_ about our orders in Ishbal," Kimbley said sweetly. "All these years, I've thought about our little conversations, and I wanted to put your mind at ease."

"My mind is _perfectly_ at ease," Roy said evenly, but his heart was pounding so hard he was sure they'd be able to hear it thudding in his chest.

Kimbley's smile widened and his eyes narrowed. "Oh, _is_ it? I'm sure you're perfectly capable of burning your enemies and anyone who gets in your way. But what will you do with a situation like _this?_"

Roy's breath caught in his throat as he saw Kimbley drop to his knees, slamming his open palms against the ground. He plunged his hand into his coat pocket, where he always kept a spare pair of gloves, but he already knew it was too late. All because he couldn't bear to look at them...

Kimbley was the master of explosions. He knew exactly which elements to manipulate, in exactly which directions, to manufacture an explosion that would perfectly fit his needs. To Roy, the next few moments were nothing but a jumble of dull roars, thudding pain, and the world jostling around him as he tried to keep his footing. When the earth beneath his feet finally stopped moving, Roy picked himself up out of a pile of stones and dirt, shaking his head to clear it and looking around wildly to find Kimbley.

Eventually, he realized who the giddy laughter belonged to. Kimbley sat on the edge of the enormous crater he'd just created, dangling his legs over the edge and leaning over to watch. "Ah, the sound of destruction! The music of chaos! Doesn't it just make your soul _sing?_"

The walls of the crater were too tall and steep for Roy to climb, but it would be an easy matter for Edward-

"Full Metal!" Roy cried, struggling over the upturned earth to look for his subordinate before Kimbley rained more destruction on them.

"Right over here," Kimbley sang out, pointing helpfully at a crumpled figure right below his feet on the crater floor. Roy raced to the boy's side as quickly as he could, keeping a wary eye on their enemy. "Oh, don't worry," Kimbley said. "I won't attack either of you again. I'm just here to watch the fireworks."

Roy shuddered at his choice of words, but then he sank to his knees next to Edward and forgot all about their insane audience. "Ed!" he gasped, lifting the boy's shoulders from the ground. _If you killed him..._

But Edward opened his eyes groggily and glanced around vaguely, trying to make sense of the situation. He tried to move, then let out a hiss of pain and looked down at himself, suddenly wide awake. Roy followed his gaze, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

He couldn't be sure exactly how it had happened in all the chaos, but Edward's right leg was broken. It was bent back so far it made him look like a rag doll, and the broken edge of the bone protruded from the flesh. Blood gushed out of the wound, as starkly red as the coat Edward still wore.

"Why, that looks like an artery," Kimbley sang out innocently. "Tick tock, tick tock – how long does it take one little alchemist to bleed out completely?"

Edward opened his mouth, as if to retort, but it just hung open as he stared at the ruined mess of his leg, like he couldn't fathom that it belonged to his own body. Roy snapped into motion, frantic hands ripping back Edward's pant leg and trying to close over the gaping wound. Edward gasped from the pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

Roy ripped off a section of his coat and tried to fashion a tourniquet, but he couldn't get it to work. Maybe the artery in his thigh was just too big. Maybe Roy's hands were just too shaky. Whatever was the case, the blood wouldn't stop coming, no matter how much of his coat Roy stuffed against it.

Edward gripped Roy's sleeve, bringing his frantic motions to a stop. "You're gonna...have to...cauterize it," he forced out between gasps of pain. "That'll stop the bleeding."

"What?" Roy felt small and pitiful, like a rabbit staring wide-eyed at the hawk bearing down on it, talons spread wide for the kill. "I...I can't do _that!_"

"Don't worry about the scarring or the pain!" Edward glared at him fiercely. "Just do it! It'll keep me alive long enough for you to catch that freak and then get to the hospital!"

Roy stared pleadingly into Edward's eyes, suddenly not caring if Edward thought any less of him. "You don't understand – I _can't._ I can't do it."

Though Edward just looked back at him uncomprehendingly, Kimbley seemed to understand what he meant. He threw his head back and laughed, slapping his knees as though this was the best joke he'd heard in years. "This is priceless!" he crowed. "The Flame Alchemist, too afraid to conjure up his fire? What a delightful paradox!"

"Afraid?" Edward asked, taken aback. But as he looked back at Roy, he seemed to notice the dread rising higher and higher in his commanding officer's gaze.

"You see what I mean?" Kimbley leaned out farther, watching their interactions avidly. "You are a living contradiction, Roy Mustang – nothing but a hypocrite. You claim to be the Hero of Ishbal, the fearless Flame Alchemist, the one who indiscriminately killed thousands of innocents. And yet, for all your whining about injustice and needing to use alchemy to save those who can't save themselves...you can't even save someone that close to you!" His voice lowered to the purr of a cat playing with a mouse. "You entire life is a _lie._"

Roy knelt, paralyzed, feeling Edward's blood trickling between his fingers as he listened to the secret thoughts of his own heart shouted aloud for the whole world to hear. He stared at Edward, his heart sinking as he realized that everything the boy believed about him was crumbling to the ground. He'd never sought Edward's approval or respect, had never thought he'd received it, but now that he watched it fade away...he felt something inside of him die.

Heart pounding fit to burst, Roy reached his bloody right hand into his pocket and pulled out his ignition-cloth glove. The mere sight of it made his stomach clench within him, but he tugged it on with the aid of his clawed left hand. He had to stop there; violent shivers raced up and down his entire body, and no matter how much he gasped, he couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs.

And Edward was watching him fall to pieces.

Roy pulled the makeshift bandage away and looked down at the gash in Edward's leg, pressing his fingers together so he could snap.

_Do it, Mustang. Feel the pain my brothers and sisters felt as they died at your hand. Know the agony each one experienced before they were turned to ash and dust on the wind. Do it until you've paid for all the pain of my people._

Cold fingers closed around his gnarled left hand lying uselessly in his lap. They gripped his middle two fingers tightly, like a child clinging to his father for comfort while waiting for an injection.

He snapped.

There were screams, and he couldn't tell if they were his own or Edward's. There was the scent of human flesh curling and blistering and burning under his flames, the cold hard feel of the oxygen atoms twisting and turning in his mind, bending to his control.

And then he was running, scrambling up the side of the crater. He wasn't sure how he managed it – whether it was the force of his own adrenaline and rage, or whether Edward had made stairs for him – but he watched Kimbley's eyes widening with the first signs of fear. Then _Kimbley_ was burning, and _Kimbley_ was screaming, and it was _his_ burning flesh that stung Roy's nostrils.

He snapped his fingers, again and again, wanting nothing more than to burn Kimbley down to a pile of ashes. But suddenly he felt a hand on his arm, and whirled around to defend himself from his next attacker...only to stop and scramble to catch Edward as he fell. It looked as though he'd used the last of his dying strength to transmute himself up to their level, but now he finally succumbed to his injuries.

Roy knelt on the rough earth, holding Edward's broken body and staring at Kimbley's blackened form. He couldn't tell if Kimbley was still breathing or not, but if he was...well, his recovery in Central Prison wouldn't be pleasant.

Edward breathed shallowly in his arms. It wasn't any kind of atonement for all the horrific deaths he'd caused, but his alchemy had saved one life. Maybe he would just have to live with his mistakes and his flaws, rather than fear and deny them. Maybe then he would truly heal.


	81. Jealous

**Author's Note: Random chapter is random. And late. Apologies. The last time I watched one of my favorite animes, Lovely Complex, it occurred to me how much Maity resembled Mustang. From there, I started to imagine this unlikely, yet strangely fitting, crossover. Let me be the first to admit this is much more about Mustang and **_**Winry**_** than him and Ed, but I think there's still enough of his paternal side to justify its presence here. I'm not sure I could exactly classify this as Parental!RoyWin, but that's a fun label to slap on this, since I don't think I've **_**ever**_** seen that before :D Oh, and just to make it clear, this takes place in a modern-day, real-world version of Amestris. The only things that are the same are the people and places.**

**Timeline: AU**

**Theme 81: Jealous**

Roy Mustang didn't think it was favoritism when he said that Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell stood out among the rest of their classmates. Edward was, to put it mildly, a prodigy. He probably belonged in a prestigious university in Central or something, rather than a public high school in a backwater town in the east. Winry was also brilliant, if only in her preferred field (aeronautical engineering, apparently). Edward's brother Alphonse was also top of the class, but he generally slid under the radar because he stayed quietly and politely in his seat, calmly taking notes.

That was the main reason Edward and Winry stood out, after all. They always seemed to be arguing, trying to outdo each other, or passing insults back and forth so swiftly they didn't notice the whole class was watching them. The other students had taken to calling them a comedy duo, and Roy had to admit, it _was_ highly amusing to watch Edward's face grow redder and redder until someone called him short and he started throwing desks around.

But the most amusing thing of all was that neither of them seemed to realize how attracted to each other they were. It was obvious from the looks they gave each other, the way they blushed and spluttered and got all flustered if anyone suggested something was going on between them. It was like watching one of those silly high school romances without even having to pay for cable.

After a few days of watching this drama unfold, Roy decided he was going to have a little fun with these two. He could tell there had already been some kind of spat between them, because Winry was doing her utmost to pretend Edward was a spider squashed underneath her shoe, yet she seemed close to tears the whole day. Edward seemed completely oblivious, as most fifteen-year-old boys would be, and couldn't seem to understand why she was giving him the cold shoulder.

So when he needed to call on someone to see if anyone knew the difference between an atom and a molecule, he turned his considerable charm up to the max and turned to Winry. "Miss Rockbell?"

He watched her melt into her chair and stammer out the answer, and then he flashed a dazzling smile at her and continued. Glancing casually in Edward's direction as he paced up and down the front of the room, he saw to his satisfaction that the boy was fuming in the seat next to Winry. From then on, he spread his charm equally on all the girls in the class, but he knew Edward would notice only one thing: His girl was smitten with someone else.

By the end of the week, the girls had created a Roy Mustang Fan Club, led by Winry Rockbell herself. That hadn't exactly been his intent, but he milked it for all it was worth. He knew it wouldn't last very long – as soon as he mentioned he had a fiance studying at East City University that he went to visit every weekend, their interest would dwindle. But it was just the push he needed.

He was doing this all for Edward's own good, of course. It was easy to see that the two liked each other a great deal, and he thought they would do well together. Behind all their bickering, there ran a current of real affection and loyalty. Besides, how could they reach their full potential if they were distracted by all this unnecessary drama?

For about a month, the RMFC flourished. The girls cheered whenever he entered the room (while the boys rolled their eyes and Edward slouched so low in his chair his eyes were level with the desk), and they made him little presents, baked treats, and conducted interviews to submit to the school paper. As the newest member of the faculty, Roy didn't think he was doing half bad.

But on the night of the fall festival, after the fireworks and treats and booths set up by various clubs to offer entertainment, Roy strolled up to his classroom to fetch a folder he'd forgotten on his desk with his notes for next week's lectures. When he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped short as the door to his classroom burst open and Winry rushed out, not looking where she was going. "Just forget it!" she screamed. "I don't _care_ anymore!"

She ran straight into him before she could look up, and he caught her before she could brush him aside. When she saw who he was, she gaped at him for a moment, then dissolved into tears. He rested a hand on top of her head as she cried, then looked up as the door banged against the wall again.

"Winry, wait, I-"

Edward stopped short in the hallway, taking in the scene with his mouth wide open. Roy stared him down, knowing that whatever the boy had said in there had caused such distress in Winry. Then Roy added the final flourish that would seal this once and for all: He smirked.

For a moment, the pain on Edward's face as he drew back made Roy wonder if he'd done the right thing. But then Edward's expression grew steely, his fists clenched, and he marched off in the opposite direction.

Roy returned his attention to Winry, and ushered her into the classroom. He pushed her into a chair in the front row and sat down next to her, saying gently, "Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Winry sniffed loudly and slumped in her chair, looking miserable as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. "I've tried every way I possibly can to tell him that I like him...but he just doesn't get it. He doesn't see me that way; I'm still just the stupid girl who lived down the street when we were little. And I'm...I've just had enough!" She let out another sob and ran her sleeve over her eyes again.

Roy pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her tears away; Winry stared up at him, her cheeks now burning red. With a self-confident smirk, Roy pressed the handkerchief into her hands and said, "There's no need to worry anymore, Miss Rockbell. You see, I can do alchemy."

Winry blinked, uncomprehending. "Alchemy?"

Roy snapped his fingers in a flourish. "Just wait and see. I will transmute your broken heart back together."

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Edward eyed Roy with increasingly obvious suspicion. Roy had to admit, it was kind of fun to keep stringing the boy along and make him think there was something going on between him and Winry. When Winry sprained her ankle after falling down the stairs and couldn't bike home as she usually did, Roy offered to give her a ride home in his car.

Just as she was beginning to thank him, Edward stormed over and growled, "Hey, I said I was gonna let you ride on my bike!"

"What's this?" Roy smirked down at his student. "You're not _jealous,_ are you?"

"No!" Edward snapped. "But _I'm_ taking her, 'cause I said so first!"

"Oh, what does it matter?" Winry said impatiently, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "I'll get home the same either way."

"No. You're coming with _me._" Edward grabbed Winry's wrist and stomped out the door. Roy smiled at the flustered, confused look on Winry's face. No matter how she tried to pretend, it was obvious she was still taken with Edward.

When Roy looked over the list of students who had signed up for the martial arts club, he snickered to find Edward Elric's name there. He'd taken over the old instructor's position when the aging man had to get a knee replacement over the summer, since he was a black belt himself. At the first meeting of the club, Roy was not disappointed to see the steam billowing out of Edward's ears as he faced the class. He raised an impressed eyebrow when he saw both of the Elric brothers wearing black belts – so they were skilled physically as well as mentally. He watched Edward seething, and the perfect idea began to form in his mind.

After class was finished, Roy found Edward outside, splashing his face with water from the tap in the back. "A word with you, Mr. Elric."

Edward straightened and scowled up at him. "What do _you_ want?"

"You like Miss Rockbell, don't you?"

Predictably, Edward immediately went bright red and stammered, "N-No...yes...I mean, we're just...just childhood friends..."

Roy took a step closer, just enough to become threatening. "Keep playing that game all you want, _Edward,_ but one day someone will come and snatch her away, and then you'll regret not making the first move when you could."

Edward's face paled, then flushed even deeper than before. "Is that 'someone' you?" he demanded. "What are you playing at, anyway? She's way younger than you, old man!"

With a mysterious smile, Roy turned and began to walk away. "All I'm saying is," he shot over his shoulder, "she won't wait around for you forever."

Edward was silent for a few moments, but just as Roy was about to open the door to head back inside, he called out, "Hold it right there, Mustang!"

Roy smirked to himself. _Like taking candy from a baby..._

* * *

Word spread quickly around the school that Roy and Edward would be facing off in a martial arts duel on Friday afternoon. No one knew the true reason behind this challenge except for the contestants themselves, but a large portion of the students turned out to see who would win. As Roy stepped out onto the mat, he heard the squealing cheers of his fan club off to the side. He waved at them, flashing them a winning smile, and noted that Winry looked uncertain, even though she had put on the cheerleading outfit all the other girls.

Just as many cheers accompanied Edward's arrival, along with jeers about his height. But for once, Edward didn't seem to hear them. He faced Roy, standing straight and proud, as though his glare would knock Roy over by itself. Roy smiled confidently at him, and bowed to his opponent.

The bell rang, and the two rushed at each other. The roars of the audience crashed all around them, but Roy focused on trading blows with his opponent. He'd seen Edward's skill in the club, but then they hadn't been pitting their strength against each other. To Roy's surprise, Edward actually seemed to be his equal. What he lacked in height and weight, he made up for in speed and dexterity, ducking and dodging every attack Roy attempted as though he could read Roy's mind.

But no matter how talented the boy was, he was still just a short, skinny teenager and Roy was a full-grown man with much more stamina and many more years of practice to his name. Gradually, he managed to push Edward back further and further, forcing him to fight harder just to keep up.

Then, the very thing Roy had been hoping for echoed around the room, breaking through the cheers of the other students: "You can do it, Ed!"

Edward's eyes flew open, and he launched himself forward with a yell. He darted around Roy and grabbed his arm, twisting it around behind his back and forcing him onto the mat. For a moment, everyone thought Edward had won, but then Roy rolled over in a deft maneuver until he held Edward down. Edward struggled for a few moments, trying to get out of Roy's grip, but he bore all his weight down on Edward until the boy finally had to slap the mat in defeat.

Cheers and groans of disappointment flooded the room, and Roy stepped back, wiping the sweat off his brow. He glanced over to his fans, who were screaming themselves hoarse and jumping up and down. All except Winry, who stood staring at Edward.

"Good match," Roy panted as the boy picked himself off the floor and flexed his arm to get the feeling back in his fingers. "You've got some real talent there, kid."

"Yeah, whatever." Edward slumped off to the changing rooms, looking as defeated as he sounded.

Roy wondered, as he called on several of his students to help clear the floor again, whether he'd gone too far. Maybe he should have let Edward win. Maybe everyone would have been better off if he hadn't interfered at all. Maybe he really did deserve all the names Edward muttered under his breath when he passed.

Finally, he made up his mind to go find the kid and apologize to him, maybe even state right out that he had no designs on Winry whatsoever. But when he heard the murmur of voices, he wisely came to a stop before a turn in the hallway and peeked around the corner.

Edward and Winry sat with their backs to the wall, Edward still in his fighting outfit and Winry still decked out in her cheerleading uniform. "You almost won," Winry was saying in a consoling tone. "You were really great today – better than I've ever seen you fight."

"But I lost." Edward's head was bowed, his long bangs hiding his face from view.

Winry rolled her eyes. "Is that all you care about? Winning? Beating Mr. Mustang? At the end of the day, does it really matter who won?"

Edward whipped his head up. "Of course it _matters!_ Because now, he'll..." He cut himself off, blushing and looking away.

"It doesn't matter what _he_ thinks!" Winry said. "I still think you're awesome."

Slowly, Edward looked back at her. "You...You mean it?"

"Sure I do!" Winry didn't seem to realize how important her words were.

Edward frowned and shifted awkwardly. "Yeah, but...what about that fan club thing?"

Now it was Winry's turn to blush and look away, but after a moment's thought, she slowly said, "I still think Mr. Mustang's pretty cool...but it's not the same. I've known you for almost as long as I can remember." She laid a hand on his arm. "You'll always be the most important person in my life."

Slowly, Edward covered her hand with his own, and they stared at each other for a long moment. When they began to lean towards each other, Roy smiled and tiptoed back the way he'd come. They would work it out somehow, in the awkward, clumsy way teenagers did. They didn't need him anymore.

So Roy snapped his fingers and let them both catch fire.


	82. More

**Author's Note: I've been needing to write about chess for a while now. Thankfully, I was completely stumped by this prompt, but it's a very easy word to work into any situation :D So this seemed like the perfect opportunity. I'm not sure why, but I just love the mental image of Ed and Mustang scrunching over a chessboard set up on a TV tray XD**

**Timeline: Midseries**

**Theme 82: More**

_for Scaehime, who reminded me I needed to do this_

It was an extremely long, boring train ride that introduced Edward to chess. Mustang pulled out an old travel set of his, one with magnetized pieces that would stick to the board despite the shaking of the train. He explained the movements each piece could make, then let Edward choose a color.

Edward chose black, because black was cooler, only to discover that white apparently always went first. "You made that rule up!" he griped, and hunkered down for a long game. After all, he and Mustang's physical and alchemical talents were fairly evenly matched; games of logic and strategy should be the same. Or he might even win; he _was_ a genius, after all.

So when Mustang won in three moves, Edward swore undying vengeance. And just swore, period. A lot.

Three hours and ten frustrating games later, Edward was getting a little better. At least he'd started seeing his mistakes and didn't get decimated quite so early in the games. But it was like playing with a mind-reader. Edward could have sworn that Mustang knew exactly what he was thinking, yet he could never tell what moves his opponent would make.

"This isn't finished!" Edward declared, gesturing dramatically as Mustang calmly packed the game up once they'd reached their destination.

Mustang chuckled. "I certainly hope not. You're much better for the ego than General Grumman."

After that, Edward would often play a game or two when he came in to report. It was usually easy to persuade Mustang to leave his paperwork, especially at first when the games were still embarrassingly short. Their games would usually involve much shouting on Edward's part and much smirking on Mustang's part. But no matter how hard Edward tried, no matter how confident he was in his own strategies, Mustang always won.

And of course Mustang had to be condescending and patronizing about it, too. He would point out Edward's mistakes after he'd gotten stuck in checkmate yet again, though Edward never asked for help. Sometimes, just as Edward reached out to move a piece, Mustang would raise one supercilious eyebrow as if to say, _Are you sure you want to do that?_ Edward would freeze, unable to tell whether Mustang was bluffing or actually hinting that it was a bad move. What was more frustrating than anything else was that he ended up losing either way.

Though Edward hated to admit it, Mustang was an excellent chess player, and actually a good teacher as well. "Never move a pawn there as your first move," he would say. "That leaves your king wide open to a bishop's attack." Often, he would remind him, "Make sure you have a plan laid out in your head for how you can proceed, or you'll waste turns fumbling around." And that was all well and good, but Edward could never think ahead more than three moves – and even when he did, Mustang always thwarted his plans and smashed them to pieces.

Soon, it became a familiar sight for the men in the office to see Mustang and Edward hunched over the chessboard Grumman had given Mustang when he transferred to Central – Mustang, cool and collected, playing white; Edward sweating and scratching his head and swearing like a sailor over the black pieces. As months passed, their games became longer and longer, till Hawkeye had to resort to threats to get them both back to work.

"You're too stingy with your pieces, Full Metal," Mustang said, taking Edward's second knight as he spoke. "A good chess player needs to be willing to make necessary sacrifices for the greater good."

The words spilled out of Edward's mouth in anger, as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair and stared in despair at the large pile of white pieces next to Mustang's hand. "Is that how you think of those under you? Expendable pawns you can sacrifice for the greater good?"

For a moment, a heavy silence fell over the room, and Edward was afraid to look up, so he focused on picking his next move instead. Had he gone too far? They hadn't really been talking about Mustang at all. But finally Mustang broke the silence, speaking softly. "A king's pawns are an extension of his will. Any effective army functions like a single body – the king is the head, the pawns are his hands and feet. So when I say that sometimes there are necessary sacrifices...think of when you sacrificed your arm for your brother."

Edward drew in his breath. He could see blood spreading across the chessboard as though it were the basement floor, could feel that sharp, piercing pain in his shoulder as the little black hands in the Gate ripped his entire arm away from his body. But all that time, all he could think of was the reason he was willing to throw it all away...

He stared at the white king. At the white pieces he'd managed to capture so far, sitting in a little jumble in the corner of the table. Was every piece really that important to him? Even the pawns, who moved so slowly and never seemed able to do much of anything?

Then he saw something that made his eyes widen further. He hesitated, sure that this was yet another trap, but no matter how many ways he looked at it, he couldn't find a problem. He slid his rook three squares over and said tentatively, "Check...mate?"

Mustang, who had been watching him, sat up straighter and examined the board sharply. His eyes whipped across the board, but finally he looked up again and smirked. "What do you know? You _do_ know how to make the necessary sacrifices."


	83. With Three Years' Eyes

**Author's Note: Quite a while ago, I got a request to continue this storyline. At first, I was completely at a loss – what could possibly be left? But I've finally found a way to do so, by combining two requests I've had sitting around for a while. One thing to note, for those who don't know my preferences yet from my Royai stories, is that I like to spell Hawkeye's first name 'Liza' instead of the official spelling. This is purely a matter of taste, because I think it fits her better than 'Riza,' but you're welcome to disagree. I don't like using her first name too much in this fic because I feel like too many people focus on things like that rather than what's actually important in the story, but there wasn't really any way around it this time.**

**Timeline: Three years after "Desire to Monopolize"**

**Theme 83: With three years' eyes**

_for WillowC1 and Hidden By The Sun, who probably thought I forgot_

The few times Roy had allowed himself to fantasize about marrying Liza Hawkeye, he'd always imagined that Hughes would be his best man. After Hughes had died, he thought maybe it would be Havoc. But when the day finally arrived, he knew that honored position could be held by none other than Alphonse Elric.

In the three years since Edward had died and he took Alphonse under his wing, Roy had watched his young charge grow from a teenager into a man. He'd grown like a weed, regained the physical strength and agility of his childhood, and obtained the State Alchemist license as easy as breathing. He'd even started going out on some missions of his own, something Roy had thought would never happen after how clingy he was in the immediate aftermath of Edward's death. But with three years' eyes, Roy could now see what a capable, confident man Alphonse really was underneath it all. With Alphonse's support and encouragement, he finally made it to the top position.

And now, after waiting so long, he was finally able to declare to the world what had been his best-kept secret for so long. Liza resigned from the military almost as soon as the inauguration was over; she would take charge of civilian concerns as soon as she became the Fuhrer's wife.

Roy wished Hughes could have been here to see this day. He would have teased Roy endlessly – probably for the next ten years – about how many times he'd denied any interest in Liza. Roy also wished Edward could be there. He longed to engage in friendly banter and tease the boy about his friend from Risenpool, sitting in the front row next to Armstrong, who was already in tears. Alphonse was no substitute, of course – their interactions were perfectly cordial and never resulted in screams or furniture being thrown across the room.

No, their conversations at home were much quieter and politer than they would be if Edward were there instead. In fact, it seemed that Alphonse had recently become even quieter than usual – thoughtful, perhaps even pensive. Something was on his mind, but Roy had been so busy preparing for the wedding on top of everything else than he hadn't had a chance to ask Alphonse about it. They hadn't really had a chance for much conversation at all, actually, in the past several weeks.

But the organist had struck up a different tune, and the doors were opening, and all thoughts fled Roy's head instantly at the sight of his beautiful bride.

* * *

Roy leaned against the window, watching Central Station approach and ignoring the amused, knowing smile Liza was giving him. They had spent a glorious, relaxing week on a private stretch of beach in the south, something he wouldn't have traded for anything...but it would be good to be home again. Funny, how quickly that enormous mansion had come to feel like home.

He wondered what Alphonse had been up to in the past week, all alone in their new home. Now that Alphonse was eighteen and could easily provide for himself with the State Alchemist salary, he could move out any time he wished. Roy had assured him of this when they first moved into the mansion, but Alphonse had merely looked uncomfortable, shrugged, and continued unpacking his things. Secretly, Roy was relieved that Alphonse stuck around. They'd grown incredibly close over the past three years, relying on each other as though they really were brothers.

Maybe that was the Equivalent Trade for Edward's death. If he'd lived, Roy would never have grown this close to Alphonse.

But that thought was a little too disturbing for him to contemplate when he was in such a happy frame of mind, so he pushed it aside and focused on collecting their luggage from the rack as the train pulled to a stop. A porter insisted on pushing their cart for them once he realized who they were, and together they emerged from the large marble building to the familiar streets of Central. Roy hesitated, looking around for their car, but then Liza pointed out Havoc standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting by his own car. Roy was a little surprised; he had his own driver now, so there was no need for someone as high-ranking as Colonel Havoc to be their chauffeur.

He smirked as they got to the bottom of the steps. "That happy to see us back?"

But then Liza's hand closed around his own, and he belatedly noticed what she had: the grim, tight-lipped expression on Havoc's face. He gave a smile that looked more like a grimace, and Roy noticed with mounting apprehension the dark shadows under Havoc's eyes, as though he hadn't slept in a week.

"Sorry, Boss," Havoc said, stamping out his cigarette with his heel as he opened the car door for them. "Wish I didn't have to ruin your honeymoon like this, but..."

Liza's grip was so tight it was becoming painful. "What's happened?"

"It's Al," Havoc said bleakly. "He tried to kill himself."

* * *

Numbly, Roy stepped into Alphonse's hospital room. The doctors had explained everything to him, made their assurances that he would make a full recovery, but Roy still didn't know what to think. From the sounds of it, Alphonse had emptied half the contents of the medicine cabinet and collapsed in the hallway. If the maid hadn't discovered him, he might not have made it to the hospital on time. He'd have to give her a raise, he supposed.

Alphonse looked up groggily to see who had come into the room, but when he saw who it was, he turned his head so his hair hid his eyes from sight. Somehow, this action made Roy's hackles rise. There was something very _Edward_ about the way Alphonse was acting, and it bothered him. It bothered him how much he welcomed it, as though somehow it meant Edward was actually here.

Leaving Liza in the doorway, Roy stomped over to the side of the bed and remorselessly brushed Alphonse's hair aside so he would _have_ to look at him. "Explain," he growled through his teeth.

Alphonse glared up at him with the Elric defiance Roy hated and loved so much. "What's there to explain? I overdosed. They got it all out again. End of story."

He tried to roll over and face the other direction, but Roy grabbed his chin and turned it back around. "Don't give me that. This isn't like you, Al-"

He knocked Roy's hand away and sat up angrily. "What do you know about me? Maybe I _wanted_ to die. Has that ever occurred to you? Maybe all this time I've wanted to die! Maybe I was just waiting for the chance that you'd _leave me alone_ so I could!"

Roy detected a hint of desperation in the middle of all that anger, but he didn't understand it, so he disregarded it. It was much more satisfying to give in to his own anger. "You wanted to die? You _wanted_ to _die?_ After everything we've been through – after everything I've done for you? After sacrificing everything I had to help you, to put you back on your feet again – _this _is how you thank me?" His voice had risen to a shout, but he didn't care. "Did you even stop to consider what would happen if you succeeded? If you _died?_"

Alphonse glared at him stubbornly. "Fine by me."

_Smack._

"Roy!"

Breathing hard, he let Liza restrain him, but he could only glare at Alphonse, now clutching his red cheek in shock. "Don't – you – _dare,_" he choked out. "I would've come back and found you dead on the floor, and there's nothing I could do to bring you back. Do you know what that would _do_ to me?"

Tears filled Alphonse's eyes, and his hand dropped back into his lap. All of his defiance dissolved completely as every ounce of strength seemed to leave him. It was only when his vision blurred that Roy realized tears were flooding his own eyes. Wearily, he sank into a chair by the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

He could never stay angry with Alphonse for long. If it had been Edward, he could have shouted until he'd gone hoarse, but Alphonse... Roy leaned forward, resting his forehead against the edge of the bed. "Why?" he groaned wearily. "Just tell me why..."

Alphonse sniffled and gave a great, shuddering breath. "Because...you don't...n-need me anymore."

This surprised him enough to make him sit up straight again. "What are you talking about?"

Alphonse broke down completely, as though reverting to the nine-year-old boy he had been when Roy first met him. With tears in her own eyes, Liza crossed to the other side of the bed and sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Roy could only sit and stare, uncomprehending.

Alphonse gulped and gasped desperately until he could control his voice enough to say, "You've g-got each other now, and...and I'm just in the way, and...there's no one...and I can't..."

"Al..." Roy looked helplessly at Liza, who gave him a meaningful look that said, _You need to do this._ He wasn't sure _what_ he needed to do, but he sat on Alphonse's other side and put an arm around him as well. He ran a hand through Alphonse's soft hair and let him rest against his chest.

For a long time, he had no idea what to say, so he just listened to Alphonse's anguished sobs. He realized that his young friend must have been harboring these feelings for a long time, unvoiced but debilitating. Every time Roy had encouraged him to strike out on his own, to become independent, must have driven the point home further than ever.

Eventually, Alphonse's tears subsided, and he just sat there, sniffling miserably. "Al," Roy began slowly, "just because I'm married now doesn't mean I don't need you anymore. You're my...well, I don't really know _what_ you are to me, but you're my family now." He rested his cheek against the crown of Alphonse's head. "Did you know I never knew my parents? I grew up in an adopted family full of people who had no blood relation to each other. I guess...in the same way, I adopted you. And your brother. And all my subordinates."

He let out a sigh. He really was making a mess of all this; he had no idea what to say. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...I would love it if you'd stay with us. Be part of our family."

"Yes," Liza added, rubbing Alphonse's arm gently. "You add so much to all our lives."

Alphonse was silent for a long time, then wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked between them almost shyly. "I know you're still angry, but...can you forgive me...for being stupid?"

Roy ruffled his hair. "Don't worry, squirt. I had plenty of practice with your brother." His heart softened even further as he looked into his friend's eyes. "And I'm not angry. I just don't want to lose you."


	84. Things Left Undone

**Author's Note: Wellllll, this one kind of ran away with me, but there wasn't really any good place to cut it and move it on to a different chapter without leaving people hanging for way too long. When I got the request to make a chapter similar to "Diffused Reflection," only about Ed's psyche instead, I was ecstatic. I'd vaguely thought about doing that, but needed the push of an actual request to get the gears working so I could actually plot it out. Of course, the first order of business was to figure out why Ed's psyche would splinter like that; I couldn't just do the same exact thing that I did with Mustang. Then it occurred to me that I could use another request, inspired by what happens to River Tam in Firefly. Obviously, Ed's condition has much different symptoms from River's, but I wanted to bring out the same effect – take someone who was brilliant and make them seem like they're mentally handicapped, without changing who they really are inside. I had way too much fun with this chapter, and got **_**very**_** carried away with the dramatics and emotions of everything, especially towards the end. Take this as me indulging myself. And please, please listen to "Be Somebody" by Thousand Foot Krutch before/during/after reading this chapter. You might not be able to tell exactly how it fits this story like I can, but it was an immense source of inspiration for the emotion driving it. Oh, and I should mention that this does **_**not **_**occur in the same plotline as "Diffused Reflection".**

**Timeline: AU (Ed has just recently turned 14)**

**Theme 84: Things left undone**

_for feathersnow and Firefly264, who had very good ideas_

Yawning, Roy stumbled down the stairs, trying to flip on the hall light and tie his bathrobe closed at the same time. He tripped over something on the floor, cursed, and yelled, "I'm coming, all right? I'm coming!"

Finally he found the light switch and kicked aside the shoes he'd tripped over. But the banging didn't stop until he undid the bolt on the door and flung it open. Roy opened his mouth to demand who had the audacity to make such a ruckus in the middle of the night, but when he saw who it was, he froze with his mouth open for a moment. Then he clicked it shut again and growled out, "Full Metal?"

Edward stood on his front step, looking as normal as ever except for the wide, cheerful grin on his face. Somehow, if Roy had known who would meet him at the front door, he would have expected Edward to be desperately clutching at several new wounds, or slouching reluctantly as he asked for something too important to refuse. But instead, he looked...completely at peace. He triumphantly raised a finger to point right at Roy's confused face and crowed, "Hide and seeeeeeek!"

_I must be dreaming._ "What are you talking about? Why are you here at two in the morning?"

Only then did Roy realize Edward wasn't alone. Another boy leaned around him with an apologetic expression and said, "Please, sir...something's happened, and...we need your help."

He instantly forgot about Edward, who was chuckling to himself, and gaped at the other boy. The light from the hallway shone directly onto him now, revealing long golden hair pulled back into a ponytail and soft grey eyes that looked enormous in a face so thin he looked starved. Roy was sure he'd never seen this boy before in his life, but...that voice...

"Alphonse?" he finally managed to whisper. "Is...Is that you?"

The boy smiled a little sheepishly under Roy's scrutiny, but he nodded. "I know you might not recognize me, but..."

Edward suddenly enveloped his brother in a bear hug, still grinning widely. "High five!"

Alphonse wrapped an arm around Edward, smiling sadly at Roy. "He says he did it. After all this time, he finally brought my body back."

Roy frowned at Edward, confused. Maybe he was just groggy from being woken up so early, but something wasn't adding up. That suspicion was confirmed when Edward turned to him with his sunny smile and announced, "Horsey! Go incisors now."

"Wh-What?"

Again, Alphonse gave him an apologetic grin. "Um...that's his name for you now. Because of Mustang, you know..." Seeing that Roy was still confused, Alphonse sighed and said, "Can we come in? It's kind of a long story."

* * *

Roy poured himself another cup of coffee and looked at Edward again. He'd made a beeline for the pantry as soon as Roy had led them to the kitchen, and grabbed a box of Frosted Wheat Flakes, then rummaged around in all of the cupboards until he found a bowl to pour them in. Roy had offered him some milk, but Edward had just made a face and proceeded to eat the cereal dry, using his hands like he was eating chips.

Alphonse spread jam on his third piece of toast, moving slowly with a dejected expression that contrasted sharply with the contented look on Edward's face.

Rubbing his eyes, Roy said, "So...let me get this straight. Ed brought your body back, and the price was...?"

"His mind. Or something in his mind that keeps everything all connected."

Roy frowned. "You mean he's mentally retarded now?"

A heavy punch landed on his arm, and Roy turned to see Edward scowling at him. "Jose!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Alphonse scolded him almost automatically, then explained to Roy, "No, I don't think that's the problem. Everything is still _there,_ it's just that he can't find the connections to the words in his mind."

"How can you be sure?"

Alphonse smiled sadly at his brother pouring the last crumbs of cereal into his bowl. "Because after he first brought me back, he spent a whole hour laboriously spelling out for me, _I still love you no matter what._"

Edward looked up at Alphonse and smiled, and in that moment Roy saw what Alphonse was talking about. The soft, warm look on his face was the same as it was every time he looked at his brother, so full of love and understanding that he seemed to glow. It was still Edward in there, even if there were things left undone in his brain.

But his heart sank to his toes as he said, "I don't know how I can help you boys. I've never heard of anything like this happening before."

Alphonse nodded gravely, not touching his toast. "I understand. I'm going to search for a way to get him back to normal, and I'm not going to stop until I can get him back. But Brother insisted on coming here, and I couldn't get him to stop until we were in front of your door. I think he thinks you can help him somehow."

Roy looked at Edward in surprise. The boy had never asked for help before. It was beneath his pride to put himself further into Roy's debt, or something idiotic like that. Whenever he'd really needed help before, he'd gone through Alphonse or someone else, and then pretended it hadn't happened. He supposed in a way it was the same now – using Alphonse to ask for help – but he'd had to work extra hard to ask for help this time. If he hadn't wanted to, he would never have had to track Roy down in the middle of the night to ask for help in this situation.

"I don't know how much I can do," Roy finally said as Edward looked back at him with his bland, cheerful eyes. "But I'll do whatever I can."

* * *

Apparently, the only thing Roy was good for was babysitting. Alphonse set out for the library at dawn, intending to use Edward's watch to get in and stay there until it closed, searching everywhere for something that might help him bring Edward back to normal. Roy would have loved to join him in the search, but Alphonse had pointed out that no one in the military could know about Edward's condition, or he might be stripped of his title because he would be deemed mentally unfit for the job.

So Roy sat in the living room, working through a stack of papers Hawkeye had obligingly brought once he called to tell her what was going on. Edward sat, humming tunelessly but cheerfully, at the kitchen table drawing with some crayons Roy had bought for Elysia's next birthday. In a lot of ways, Edward seemed to have reverted to childhood; even his drawing skills had become primitive like a five-year-old's scribbles. Roy wondered if that also had something to do with the connections that were broken in his mind. Otherwise, Edward would just be able to write or draw pictures of what he wanted to say.

Roy didn't realize he was sitting there, staring into space and ignoring his paperwork, until he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked up and saw Edward standing there, squinting at him with a look of intense concentration. "Horsey," he said insistently, tugging on Roy's sleeve again.

"Yes?" he said, setting his work aside. He was starting to get used to Edward's new name for him, though he didn't appreciate the comparison. "What do you need?"

"Sauce..." Edward said slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable painstakingly to make sure Roy got the meaning. "Tomato sauce."

"Uh...are you hungry?" Roy guessed.

Edward let out a whine and looked back with an anguished expression, which Roy had learned was his version of 'no'.

"Sauce," he said again, insistently tugging at Roy's sleeve. "_Sauce._"

"Sauce?" Roy repeated blankly. He needed Alphonse for this. As Edward's brother, Alphonse was able to figure out this weird language of associations much more quickly than Roy. It had taken almost half an hour for Edward to get across his request for paper to draw on in the first place. The tricky thing was that Edward's associations could be any kind of connection – the sound of the words, their meaning, their relation to what he'd said before... "What do you mean?"

"Sauce," Edward repeated, his face betraying the immense struggle of conveying the thought he held in his mind. "_Sohhhawwwwssss._" With a frustrated sound, he plopped down onto the couch next to Roy and hugged himself, rocking back and forth with his eyes screwed shut.

Roy laid a hand on Edward's back. "Calm down," he soothed. "Just take a deep breath. Keep trying."

For a few minutes, Edward kept rocking, but finally he stopped, let out a shaky sigh, and looked straight into Roy's eyes. He said clearly, "Sense...over...sense."

Roy thought of what Alphonse had said about the way Edward talked. One of the things he'd explained was that it seemed to be the hardest thing for him to do, but when Edward really felt the need to communicate something important, he would spell out the words he was trying to say, using words that started with those same letters.

"S...O...S?" Roy looked into Edward's eyes, filled with a golden turmoil. "Ed...are you asking me for help?"

The anguish in Edward's eyes immediately hid behind their usual bland shield, as he beamed an obvious 'yes'.

Roy turned to face him completely and grasped his shoulders to keep Edward's attention fixed on him. "What do you need help with?"

"Justin."

Even as Roy was beginning to hope that he was starting to figure out how Edward spoke, he found himself back at square one. "Justin?"

"Justin...suitcase!" Edward sat back, looking pleased with himself.

"Justin suitcase," Roy muttered to himself, repeating the phrase several times with different emphasis, trying to figure out what Edward meant. He didn't know anyone named Justin, and had never heard either of the brothers mention someone by that name either. But maybe it wasn't about a person. Maybe, like with _sauce,_ he was going more for the sound of the word. He slowly said the phrase again, pausing between each syllable to examine the sounds separately. "Just...in...suit...case." Drawing in a surprised breath, he turned back to Edward. "Just in case?"

Edward beamed and shoved the paper he'd been drawing on into Roy's face. Roy took it, reminded forcibly of Hughes pushing his photos on everyone within reach, and looked at Edward's handiwork. Most of the page was filled with indistinguishable scribbles, but in one corner was a lopsided drawing of a series of circles and lines and squiggles. It was unmistakably a transmutation circle, though not one that would work. The proportions were all wrong, and the way the symbols interacted with each other was completely meaningless.

"Just in case..." He looked up at Edward, who was expectantly waiting for him to figure it out, and took a wild stab in the dark. "Are you saying...that you made a transmutation circle just in case something happened to you?"

He grinned wider than ever.

Roy sat back, pondering the scribbled transmutation circle. There was no way this was the actual circle Edward was talking about. He couldn't even tell what it would look like if it was drawn properly. It didn't have any of the formulas or equations necessary to understand how it would work.

But then another thought occurred to him. One thing he'd noticed, while listening to Alphonse translate, was that Edward's phrases were very efficient. They were never more than two or three words long, but often they would serve two purposes at the same time. He supposed that was another sign that Edward's intelligence was intact. He couldn't say exactly what he wanted to, but he found ways to express two thoughts at once.

"Justin...suitcase," Roy mumbled again, looking at the battered suitcase the brothers had brought with them and left near the living room doorway. Roy got to his feet and crossed over to it now, flipping the catches and opening it. Edward came over and knelt down beside him, grinning from ear to ear.

Most of the suitcase was filled with dirty clothes, but Roy rummaged through them to the bottom. He pulled out several alchemy books that Edward had been carrying around with him, and then a small leather-bound notebook. He glanced at Edward, whose eyes were fixed on the notebook, and opened it.

It was Edward's notes. Only half of the book was written in so far, and everything seemed to pertain to one thing: His method for getting Alphonse's body back. Roy turned the pages, amazed at the combined intelligence and creativity needed to create something this elaborate. Edward acted so immature most of the time that it was easy to forget he was a genius. Looking at these notes, Roy realized that the boy's abilities surpassed even his own. And he was only fourteen.

Roy found the page where Edward had sketched out the circle he used to bring Alphonse's body back into the world, and he had to pause for several minutes to admire its intricate, exact beauty. But finally he dragged himself away and turned the page to the last one that had anything written on it. It was another diagram of a circle, but this one was completely different than the drafts Edward had made of the one for Alphonse.

The longer Roy examined this circle, the more amazed he became. This was it. The loophole, the way out _just in case_ the Truth messed around with his mind the way it had. In the center of the circle was a symbol Roy had never seen before, but as he looked closer at it, he realized it was the symbol for the mind overlapping the symbol for the soul. He sat there for several minutes, staring at these symbols and considering the implications of the angles of the lines pointing towards the center...

As he stood up, he realized Edward was watching him anxiously, almost like he was expecting a scolding of some kind. But Roy just smiled and said, "Help me move the coffee table and the rug. I'll draw the circle."

Edward let out a delighted chuckle as he scrambled towards the coffee table.

* * *

When Roy realized he had closed his eyes while activating the transmutation circle, he slowly opened them. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to see, but he certainly hadn't expected the crumbling stone archway he was confronted with. So this was what the inside of Edward's psyche looked like? He glanced around the crumbling stone wall to either side, and the broken stairs beneath his feet. He looked over his shoulder, only to see that he stood on the lowest step, hanging precariously over a vast expanse of utter darkness. Quickly, he stumbled back until he could clutch at the cold stone wall for support. He wasn't sure what the black emptiness actually was, or if he could fall to his death in someone else's mind, but he didn't want to find out.

As he stood trying to catch his breath, he heard a voice call off to the side, "Hey, Mustang!"

Roy looked over in surprise and saw a young boy hanging out an opening in the wall that looked like it had once been a window. The boy jumped down out of sight, and Roy heard little running feet until he appeared again under the archway, grinning. Though Roy should have guessed it, he was still surprised to realize this little boy was Edward. He had the same unruly hair hanging all around his face, though it wasn't long enough for a braid, and the same defiant golden eyes blazed up at him.

"Full Metal...?" he asked tentatively.

Edward rolled his eyes in a very familiar expression. "Duh." But then he grinned and grabbed the last two fingers of Roy's hand, tugging him through the archway. "I'm so glad you're finally here! It's been really boring; the others aren't much fun to talk to. It was a lot more interesting when we were fully integrated."

"The others?" Roy asked, letting Edward drag him along like an eager child at a carnival.

Edward rolled his eyes again and looked at Roy like he was being dense on purpose. "Yeah, you know – the splintered parts of my psyche? The whole reason you came here in the first place?"

It was a little strange to hear such sophisticated words from a boy who seemed no older than five or six, but Roy reminded himself that, despite his appearance, he was still a teenager. "So your psyche split apart in the transmutation," he said slowly, "and now you need my help to integrate again?"

"Yeah," Edward said, leading Roy down a narrow stone staircase to another archway below them, through which he could only see more of the crumbling ruins. "We tried to get together ourselves, but it wouldn't work. We decided we needed someone from the outside to do it for us, but it's really hard to get our body to do what we want it to. I'm glad you made it!"

"Glad who made it?" growled another voice, one much more familiar to Roy.

Another Edward appeared around a corner of the crumbling wall as Roy and the little boy stepped through the second archway. He looked just like the real Edward – a teenager, dressed in Edward's usual clothes, slouching with his hands in his pockets the way Edward often did. He scowled up at Roy, and Roy could almost believe this was the normal Edward...were it not for the coldness in his eyes.

"Took your pretty time getting here!" the teenager snarled. "What, did you think you'd just let us sit around here forever? Yeah, I bet you _enjoy_ watching us suffer and making us seem stupid on the outside!"

"Don't say that," the younger Edward said with a slight pout. "He came as soon as he could. Just be thankful that he could understand our speech on the outside enough to get here."

"You shut your trap!" the angry Edward snapped, taking a few steps forward as if intending to strike his younger self. "This is all your fault in the first place! If it'd been _me_ on the outside, we could actually get something done!"

The young Edward scurried back to hide behind Roy, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. Roy caught the angry Edward as he tried to dodge around him and get at the young Edward. The angry Edward whirled around, glaring at Roy, and for a moment Roy thought he might hit _him_ instead. "Stop this," Roy snapped, gripping the boy's arm as tightly as he could. "Fighting amongst yourselves isn't going to help anything."

To his surprise, the angry Edward listened and fell still, though he still glowered menacingly at him. But he seemed to see the sense in what Roy was saying. He ripped his arm from Roy's grip, but did nothing more than swear violently under his breath.

Roy bent down for a moment to look the young Edward in the eye. The little boy hastily scrubbed his eyes with his hand, but he still looked distraught. Taking one little hand in his, Roy said gently, "Don't worry, Ed. We'll figure this out. You aren't going to be like this forever."

With a shaky breath and a watery smile, the young Edward nodded and gripped Roy's hand tightly, letting him lead the way this time. The angry Edward slouched along behind them, muttering imprecations as he went.

As Roy followed the stairs downward, passing another ruined wall, he was finally able to get a good look at the whole place. It looked like some kind of amphitheater suspended in the eternal darkness surrounding the whole thing. The architecture looked like the ruins of Xerxes he'd seen in history books, but there was no sand or moss or anything else, living or dead. He didn't even think there was any dust on the age-old stones. It was just a crumbling ruin, as if to say that Edward's mind was old before its time. He could vaguely see the center at the bottom of this amphitheater, so he supposed that was where they were headed.

They had to walk halfway around the next level before they could find the next archway. Sitting on a fallen pillar was an old man dressed in flowing red robes. His hair was thin and white, hanging down to his waist along with his flowing beard. He gripped a wooden staff carved in the shape of a serpent coiled around a cross, the emblem of alchemy.

Roy wasn't sure he believed his eyes until he stepped around the pillar and looked at the old man's face. He was covered in wrinkles and spotted with age, but his eyes were just as sharp and calculating as the other Edwards trailing behind him. This ancient Edward let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes briefly as he said, "Thank you for coming." His voice was a rough rasp, as though he was tired of using it. He opened his eyes again, looking keenly into Roy's. "But it is hopeless. There is nothing you can do to help us."

He arched an eyebrow, smirking down at the old man. It was bizarre, but he had to remember that this was just another facet of the boy he knew so well. "That doesn't sound much like you, Ed. Aren't you the one who always says you have to get up again and move forward?"

The old Edward smiled mirthlessly and stared at his sandaled feet. "True. But no matter how many times I say that, nothing will really change. Sitting here, I've realized...there is no way to have everything I want. I've run through every equation, every theory, I've ever found in my extensive studies, and they all agree: This is Equivalent Trade. We have no choice but to accept that we will remain trapped and severed in here. This is the price we must pay for our brother's body."

"Oh, get up, you old fart!" the angry Edward burst out, kicking the old Edward in the shin.

"Ow!" the old Edward yelped. "What'd you do that for?" It was odd to hear such childish words in that raspy old voice, but it gave Roy hope that they really could become one person again.

"Sitting on your butt isn't going to get us any closer to fixing this!" the angry Edward yelled, grabbing the old man's staff and yanking him to his feet. The old man stumbled, and Roy caught his arm to steady him.

The young Edward reached up and patted the old Edward's other arm. "He's right," he said more gently. "We have to at least try, right? We've got Mustang now; it might work!" He looked up imploringly at the old man. "Do it for Al?"

The old Edward sighed, closing his eyes and hunching his shoulders as though he carried the weight of the world. "Yes," he said finally, gripping his staff more tightly. "For Al...I will try once more."

Roy supported the old Edward, helping his unsteady feet down the stairs, while the young Edward clung to his sleeve on the other side. The angry Edward dragged behind them, snorting with disgust every time the old Edward stumbled. The old Edward cringed each time.

On the next level, it took such a long time to find the next Edward that Roy was beginning to think there were no more. But finally, after they had gone almost the entire way around the circle, he finally thought to look up and saw another teenage Edward sitting hunched up in a little niche in the wall. Leaving the old Edward to lean on his staff, Roy approached the niche.

This Edward also looked very familiar, though Roy had only seen him look like this once or twice. Normally, this side of him hid very well inside the feisty boy he knew so well. This Edward sat with his arms around his knees, resting his forehead against them and letting his long bangs hide his face. Roy reached up and touched him on the arm. "Ed?"

Slowly, the boy straightened up and looked back at him with a weary, hopeless expression. His golden eyes were dull and listless, with dark circles under them, as though he hadn't slept in weeks. As he shifted, Roy noticed tiny scars on the insides of his arms, both of which were made of flesh. Some of the wounds looked fresh, and one was still bleeding, blood trickling out of his wrist and smearing all over his hand.

"Ed...what are you doing to yourself?" He knew that this wasn't real, that these Edwards were just representations of the real boy's state of mind. But that only troubled him further, to realize how deep they were in Edward's psyche.

For a long time, this Edward didn't look like he was going to answer. But finally he opened his mouth and said wearily, "It's my fault. It's all my fault. This is...my just punishment."

"This is no punishment," Roy said gently. "You're talking about your brother, right? Well, guess what? You've done it. You've given him his body again. You've atoned for every mistake."

"Nothing will make up for what I've done."

Roy smirked. "Sitting around idly sure won't."

Edward sat there, processing this for a moment, then turned slowly to face Roy with a guarded expression, as though trying not to get his hopes up.

"All your brother wants is to have you back again. He doesn't want you to be in this state any longer than you have to. So come with us. We're going to do what we can."

Edward stared at Roy's hand, held out in invitation, then slowly grasped it with his bloody hand. Roy helped him clamber out of the niche, then guided him over to the others. Roy helped the old Edward hobble forward again, and they all stepped through the final archway.

They had finally made it to the center of the amphitheater, a simple stone circle surrounded by the rising rows of arches and columns they had traversed to get here. In the very center of the floor, an enormous mirror stood facing them, its frame made of tarnished silver.

"There it is," the old Edward said, pointing a shaking finger at the mirror. "We must all look into the mirror. If Mustang is with us...maybe we can become one again."

Everyone seemed reluctant to approach the enormous mirror, so Roy led the way to a square marked out on the stones in front of it, which was apparently where they were supposed to stand. Because he was still holding onto him, Roy led the old Edward into the square first.

At first, the mirror remained blank, reflecting nothing, but then Mustang and the old Edward appeared in the glass. Instead of standing side-by-side, however, they were facing each other. Roy could hear their voices as the reflections spoke to each other, though the sound was muffled as though coming from far away, or through a barrier of some kind.

"...and that is my theory on how to separate chimeras," the old Edward's reflection said.

"Is that _really_ what you think?" Roy's reflection sneered. "Is that all you have? You're going to have to do better than that, Full Metal, if you want to stay in the military. How could such a dull-witted idiot become a State Alchemist? You're a disgrace to every alchemist who-"

The voice cut off and the reflections disappeared as the old Edward stepped out of the square. He hobbled over to a large chunk of stone nearby, sighing wearily to himself, "I knew it..." He sat down and stared at his feet, as he had been when Roy first found him.

Roy stared dumbly at the mirror, trying to figure out what had happened. Then he saw the reflection waver back into place, only this time he was accompanied by the angry Edward. Their reflections were having a heated shouting match, much like the ones they had in real life, but there was something different about this one.

"I hate you!" the angry Edward's reflection yelled. "I hate you, I _hate_ you!"

Roy stared at his reflection, at the rage twisting his face into an ugly mask, and he wondered if he actually looked like that. "You miserable, ungrateful, self-centered _wretch!_ Get out of my sight! I never want to see you again!"

"I _hope_ you never see me! I hope I live my entire life without ever running into you ever again!"

Roy's reflection shoved his face right into Edward's and snarled in a low voice, "I hope you _die._"

With a loud string of curses, the angry Edward spun on his heel and stalked out of the square, immediately obliterating the reflections. He paced up and down, refusing to look at Roy or the mirror, muttering angrily to himself something about _should have known nothing would change._ Roy gazed after him, stricken, wanting to say something to take back the awful words his reflection had said...but how could he take back words that had never even left his mouth?

The young Edward walked up to the square, took a deep breath, and stepped into place next to Roy. His shoulders hunched in anticipation, he peeked timidly up at the mirror looming over him. As soon as the reflection faded in, Roy jumped in alarm. This reflection of himself had grabbed the young Edward's reflection by his collar and was shaking him so violently his head was lolling back and forth.

"I said, _do you understand me?_" the reflection yelled.

"Y-Yes," came the quavery reply.

"I don't want to hear your complaints anymore! Stop acting like such a _child!_" And then he began slapping the young Edward across the face, swinging his arm with all his might, seemingly oblivious to the child's cries of pain.

"No..." Roy watched himself slapping the boy nearly senseless, yelling about misdemeanors he couldn't possibly have been responsible for – destroying a town...spending exorbitant amounts of money...complaining about doing his duty...

Roy realized, with a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, that these were things he reprimanded Edward for on a regular basis. Everything his reflections were saying had pieces of the truth in them, though he was sure he'd never said them in such hurtful ways. He _hadn't_...had he?

Letting out a tiny sob of fear, the young Edward ran out of the square and scurried over to the old Edward for comfort. The old Edward let him sob into his robes, but his hopeless expression remained the same.

That meant there was only one Edward left. Roy tensed as the depressed Edward shuffled into the square next to him. He stared glumly at the floor, then slowly raised his eyes to their reflection materializing in the mirror.

"Pathetic," Roy's reflection spat. "Worthless. You're the worst brother to ever walk this earth. Sacrificing the only family you had left, just to create something utterly worthless that you _knew_ wouldn't work? You don't deserve to _breathe._ You should be thankful for this pain and humiliation; it's only what you deserve. Equivalent Trade."

The depressed Edward's reflection said nothing, didn't even move while Roy's reflection continued to abuse him. Roy watched this carry on for a while, but he knew he had to do something. This wasn't working. None of it was helping at all. If they kept this up, Edward would never be whole. So this time, Roy stepped out of the square.

But nothing changed. The depressed Edward stayed where he was, watching Roy's reflection continue to say everything Edward had ever thought about himself. He had to _do_ something. Edward's shoulders were hunching down more and more, like he was trying to become as small as possible, like he was withering down to nothing under Roy's judgment.

Beginning to grow desperate, Roy ran behind the mirror and pushed against it. But it was firmly lodged in the stones of the floor, a seemingly permanent fixture of Edward's mind. Roy threw all his weight against it, pushing as hard as he could, until finally it tipped, toppled, and fell with an almighty crash. Everyone looked up in surprise, staring at the mirror and the shards of glass spread out in a wide circle, some of the pieces almost reaching the depressed Edward's feet.

The angry Edward rushed up, and the old Edward hobbled over with the young Edward's help. The angry Edward swore loudly as he crunched around the edge of the mirror, examining the damage. Then he whirled on Roy. "Now how are we supposed to get out of here?"

The old Edward chuckled grimly. "As I said – it is hopeless."

"What?" the young Edward whimpered. "You mean we're stuck here forever?"

But the depressed Edward hadn't moved from his hunched position, staring hollowly at the ground, and that was what worried Roy the most. He stepped onto the back of the mirror and looked around at them all. "Forget the mirror!" he said angrily. "It's nothing but a mirror of lies!"

"No." The old Edward stubbornly shook his head. "That is the mirror of truth. This was clear to us from the beginning."

"It might tell you the truth about what you imagine I think of you," Roy said angrily, "but it's _not true._ And even if it _were_ true...don't listen to me. Stop defining yourself by what other people think of you or say to you. Why should I be the one to tell you what you are? You can be anything you want to be, and to _hell_ with what I think! Prove me wrong. Show me who you are. There's nothing I can do to stop you, because you're _strong._ You can find your own way, without my help or guidance. I'll do whatever I can, but you have to start with what you can do right now. Don't give up. You've gotten this far, haven't you? Just look at everything you've done. You got your brother's body back! I didn't have a hand in any of that. So don't listen to me if I'm holding you back. I'm not worth that. Take a step and move forward. You have such strong legs. Why don't you get up and use them?"

Edward looked up at him with eyes filled with deep-rooted fear and pain. "But what if I fall?"

Roy put a hand on his shoulder. "Then I'll pick you up again."

* * *

When Roy opened his eyes again, it was to see that he was back in his living room again, lying at the edge of the transmutation circle he'd drawn on the floor. In the middle sprawled Edward, who was...crying. Moving on limbs stiff from disuse, Roy hurried to the boy's side and brushed his hair aside. At first he thought Edward was crying in his sleep, but at his touch the boy opened his eyes and looked up at him.

He flushed bright red, but didn't move or stop crying. Roy tried to figure out just by looking at him whether it had worked, or whether Edward was in the same position he'd been before. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Edward burst out between sobs, pushing himself up to his knees. He ran his sleeve across his eyes, but it didn't do much to stem the tears. "I'm absolutely..._perfectly_...fine. C-Can't you tell?"

He wasn't smiling that stupid, artless grin anymore. He was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. His face was red and his eyes were puffy and his nose was running. But as Roy looked at him, something twisted and _ached_ deep inside him. He had stepped into Edward's mind, trod deep into his soul, and what he had seen there...was beautiful.

Roy pulled Edward close, and felt the boy's fingers dig into his back, clinging as tightly as he could. "You're an amazing person, Edward Elric," Roy murmured into his hair. "Never forget that."

Edward sniffled and took a shuddering breath that shook them both. Then, in a tiny voice that reminded him of the young Edward, he said, "Could you...remind me...sometimes?"

He couldn't breathe. "Every day."


	85. Parents

**Author's Note: I don't feel like I did a very good job on this one because it was another rush job, but it was inordinately fun to write the last bit of it, especially. I really liked the idea of Mustang and Hohenheim working together; I think they would make a pretty good team, though they don't really have any interaction in the original story. I'm not even sure they talk at **_**all**_** in Brotherhood. It's at least interesting to try to figure out how Ed's two father figures would interact. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, because I'll be revisiting this scenario again. It won't be for quite a while, but I've already got a couple ideas for a continuation. In case anyone gets confused, this is supposed to happen sometime after the Lab 5 incident, but the lab didn't get destroyed, because I needed a convenient place that was a bit removed from Father.**

**Timeline: AU (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 85: Parents**

_for Obsidian Buterfly and Victorious-Mind, who finally got their wish  
_

Roy wasn't worried when Edward didn't report in. He didn't even worry when the boy didn't show up for the rest of the week. Edward had done this before, and Roy had gotten worked up far too many times only to be laughed at when Edward turned up right as rain. Roy knew better now – Edward would come when he was good and ready, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

He started to wonder when the next week dragged out and he hadn't received so much as a phone call or even a postcard with some kind of explanation as to what was going on. He'd expected more from Alphonse, at least. But he still didn't worry. They'd probably just found another lead or gotten a bit battered and stopped off in Risenpool first.

But when Roy hit Day 20 and realized he'd been counting, he caved in and admitted he was starting to get a little nervous. Even Edward would have made some kind of contact if he could. And if he couldn't...well, Roy didn't want to think about that. So he started making inquiries, tracing the Elrics' path to a small town in the southwest where they'd heard rumors of a red stone. But there the trail ended. The hotel manager found a record of Edward Elric spending one night in the only hotel in town, but then he'd not been seen since. The manager sounded irritated, too, mentioning that they hadn't paid their bill.

Roy gave up trying to get any work done after this phone call, and sat brooding at his desk instead. What had happened to them? Had the owner of this red stone captured them once they started snooping around? Were they even now stuck in a cellar somewhere, tied up and hoping someone would rescue them? Or were they...?

With a curse, Roy vaulted out of his chair and paced in front of the window, trying to erase that traitorous thought from his mind. But they'd been gone so long now. His own stupidity and indifference could very well have sentenced them to-

"Sir?"

Roy whirled around in surprise. He hadn't even heard Hawkeye's customary knock on the door. She opened the door wider and said, "You have a visitor."

Stopping himself on the verge of complaining that he didn't have time for visitors, Roy forced himself to stand still as Hawkeye ushered a stranger into the office and closed the door after him. But as Roy took a closer look, he realized that even though he had never seen this man before, he looked surprisingly familiar.

The visitor wore a brown, travel-worn coat over a threadbare suit, and he carried a battered suitcase. He had pulled his golden hair back in a ponytail, and a distinctive beard jutted out from his chin as though he hadn't had it trimmed in weeks. Behind a pair of glasses glimmered eyes as golden and bright as the sun.

"My name is Hohenheim," the man said, stepping forward and holding out a hand.

When Roy shook it, he noticed how firm and confident the man's grip was. "Colonel Roy Mustang," he replied. "How may I help you?"

Hohenheim eyed him keenly, and Roy felt as though the man could look straight through his eyes into his soul. "You can help me collect my sons."

Finally, everything clicked into place. "Ed and Al?" he asked quickly. "You know where they are? How did you find them? Are they all right?"

Hohenheim smiled a little as Roy clenched his jaw to stop his babbling. "They're here in Central. The man they went to see in Allenheim was intending to lure them there, so they would be far away from help. Once they were subdued, he brought them here to his master."

"How do you know all this?"

"Let's just say I've met these people before," Hohenheim said delicately, hoisting his suitcase onto Roy's desk and snapping it open, rummaging through the papers inside. "Has Edward told you about the Homunculi?"

"Yes...wait." Roy leaned closer, fists clenching on the smooth wooden surface of his desk. "You mean _they're_ behind all this?"

"They're moving much faster than I'd anticipated," Hohenheim murmured as if to himself, pulling out a map of Central, on which he'd marked several buildings. "The Homunculi have singled out my sons as 'human sacrifices' for their plan, but I didn't expect them to gather the five so soon..."

Roy wasn't quite sure what he was talking about, but he realized that the buildings marked on the map were the five military labs, including Lab 5, which had been shut down years ago. "Where are they keeping them?"

He could have guessed, but Hohenheim pointed at Lab 5. Of course, the Homunculi would hold them in the abandoned building where they wouldn't be disturbed. Roy shuddered, trying not to think about what depraved experiments the Homunculi might be subjecting the boys to, with all the experiments that had been conducted there in the past.

Hohenheim seemed to notice, because he folded the map back up and put it back in his suitcase. "Don't worry, the Homunculi know better than to kill them. Their master needs them alive until the proper moment, which gives us the opportunity to get them out of there."

Roy immediately grabbed his gloves and coat, but another thought brought him up short before he could head out the door. "Why did you come to me?" he asked curiously. "Why not go after them yourself?"

Hohenheim smiled despite the dire situation they were heading into, but an infinite sadness hid behind the golden shields of his eyes. "Because you're Edward's commanding officer, you're one of the most capable State Alchemists in the country, and...he needs you for this."

At the time, Roy had no idea what he meant.

* * *

The further they advanced into the depths of Lab 5, the more Roy respected Hohenheim's abilities. The first time they sprung one of the traps, Roy had barely raised a gloved hand by the time Hohenheim transmuted a wall that blocked the falling blade immediately. As they continued, Roy watched the man closely and saw to his amazement that Hohenheim transmuted without a circle. He didn't even seem to need to clap his hands to throw up a wall or a stone fist to knock the traps out of the way. When he transmuted a walkway for them to continue over a large hole in the floor, Roy realized that he was transmuting with his _feet._ He had never seen such a thing in his life.

Just as Roy was starting to wonder why his presence was even necessary, they came to the end of the long, winding corridor and faced two large, heavy doors. They hesitated for a moment, not knowing what awaited them on the other side, but then Hohenheim glanced at him and heaved his weight against the doors. Understanding, Roy stepped forward to cover him.

But when they stepped into the large, pillared hall, it seemed to be empty. Moonlight shone down in patches on the floor through skylights, making this large room seem more like an ancient temple than a laboratory. Slowly, the two men walked out into the open area of the room, eying the shadows warily as they headed for another door at the other end of the hall.

Of course, just as they were ready to think they would make it across unchallenged, a young woman stepped out from behind a pillar and blocked their way to the door. She could have been beautiful, Roy thought as he eased automatically into a fighting stance. But her ample chest and thick, flowing dark hair belied the vicious glint in her eyes and the wolfish smile that twisted her lips. Roy noticed the tattoo on her chest of a snake eating its tail, and understood immediately.

"Lust," he spat in disgust.

One eyebrow arched delicately. "Oh? What an honor, to be recognized by such a handsome man as you. And here I was worried I'd have to make my own introduction."

"Where are they?" Hohenheim asked in a low, dangerous voice. "Where are you keeping my sons?"

"Oh, they're two levels below us," Lust said, gesturing carelessly at the door behind her, "but I really don't think you'll have time to worry about that. You'll be too busy fighting for your life."

With no other warning, an enormous man suddenly lunged out of the shadows, barrelling towards Hohenheim with single-minded abandon. Roy whirled to attack, but Hohenheim had already impaled the man on a spike from the floor. The man paused, then slowly pushed himself back off the spike, the hole in his enormous stomach healing with a crackle of alchemy. That had to mean he was another Homunculus – Gluttony, probably.

"Colonel Mustang," Hohenheim said calmly, as if he was asking for Roy to pass the salt, "go find them. I can handle these two."

Lust laughed lightly before Roy could reply. "And what makes you so confident of _that,_ old man?"

Hohenheim looked steadily back at her, his expression unchanging. "Because I am one of your 'human sacrifices,' so you will be unable to kill me. And I assure you, I won't even give you the chance."

As soon as he said this, an explosion of energy poured out of him, the electricity seeming to form hands and grasp parts of the walls, floor, and ceiling, warping and twisting them into a thousand weapons striking at the Homunculi all at once. They did their best to dodge, but many of the attacks hit. Roy edged towards the door, keeping an eye on their enemies. Lust saw what he was doing and howled with rage, shooting one of her razor-sharp fingers towards him, but Hohenheim transmuted a fist in her face, making her fall over. Roy quickly ducked through the door, leaving the staggering display behind.

He smirked a little to himself as he thought that Edward's style wasn't so different from his father's.

* * *

Roy carefully pushed open the door at the end of the second stairwell, keeping eyes and ears peeled for any sign of more Homunculi or traps. He couldn't rely on Hohenheim's incredible ability anymore. But it seemed the Homunculi weren't as concerned about intruders this far into the building, and he met no resistance.

Just as he was peeking around a corner, Roy stiffened at the sound of a distant scream behind him. It sounded...young. Raw. Terrified.

Without thinking, Roy spun on his heel and raced back the way he had come. He raced past the stairwell and ran the other way down the corridor, following the intermittent screams to their source. As he got closer, he began to distinguish a second voice crying out underneath the first. "Stop, please! Don't do this anymore, please, I'm begging you..."

Roy saw the door up ahead, light spilling out the crack of a door standing ajar. Forcing himself to slow down, Roy crept close enough to the door to peek inside and assess the situation. What he saw made every muscle in his body clench with fury and revulsion.

Once upon a time, this room had probably been the sight of unthinkable experiments – hopefully only with animals, though Roy wouldn't put it past the military to secretly experiment on humans. Edward was strapped to a metal examination table that had been propped upright, his ankles, wrists, and neck held tightly in place so he couldn't escape. He was stripped completely naked, his toes dangling several inches above the floor so the leather straps were the only thing holding his weight, cutting harshly into his bare skin. Every scrap of human dignity had been ripped from him; from the looks of it, they hadn't even risked letting him out to relieve himself.

But worst of all, it seemed that every non-vital inch of his body was scored with bruises and lacerations. Even his automail had been tampered with, the casing torn off and the wires hanging loose, rendering them useless. And as Roy watched, he realized with mounting horror that this was what Edward's tormenter had been using to bring out such pained screams.

The unruly black hair and odd fashion sense immediately identified the Homunculus stalking around his prisoner as Envy. He was grinning maliciously, tapping a bloody knife against some kind of contraption set up on a table bearing his other instruments of torture.

"You don't have to be such a _baby_ about this, pipsqueak," he taunted. "There's no need to scream after just a little tickle."

Edward's head hung as low as it could in his restraints, his bangs sticking to his cheeks with a mixture of blood and sweat. Roy could see, even from the doorway, how glassy and dull his eyes were, completely worn out from the torture he'd endured. He didn't even try to respond, which worried Roy more than anything.

"Hmm, no response?" Envy said, clicking his tongue with impatience. He grabbed a handful of the wires hanging out of Edward's arm. "Let's see if we can fix that, then."

"Please! Please, no more!" Roy suddenly realized where the other voice had come from. A curved piece of metal sat on a tall stool out of the way, facing towards Edward. Judging from the voice, it had to be a small, inanimate piece of Alphonse forced to watch his brother's torture. Of course, that was the only way they could hurt him, since he couldn't feel physical pain anymore.

Roy wasn't sure what Envy was going to do until he picked up a metal pincer attached to the contraption on the table, and clamped it around the ends of Edward's wires. With a wicked grin, he flipped a switch. Edward's head immediately thunked against the metal behind him, and he twitched as the wires sparked, his eyes rolling back into his head and a scream ripping out of his throat.

_Snap._ Envy was thrown backwards, knocking over the table and the strange contraption and slamming into the wall behind it. He slid to the ground, leaving enormous cracks in the plaster, and clambered back to his feet with a curse. Roy threw the door open and stalked in, snapping his fingers again and sending Envy to the floor, screaming as his entire body burned to a crisp.

While Envy was writhing and cursing, Roy quickly glanced over at Edward, who had fallen limp again. The force of Envy knocking the table over had ripped most of the wires completely out of Edward's arm, breaking the connection to the electric current.

"Colonel!" Alphonse cried with obvious relief. He sounded close to tears, if such a thing were possible for a curved strip of steel.

"Don't worry, boys," Roy said, knocking Envy off his feet again. "Your father is upstairs fighting off Lust and Gluttony."

"Dad is?" A strange jumble of emotions rushed through those two words, like Alphonse couldn't decide whether he was happy about it or not.

To Roy's surprise, Envy cackled as he got to his feet again. "Father's always right," he gloated, brushing soot off his hands. "Grab the children, and the parents will follow."

"What are you talking about?" Roy said impatiently.

Envy laughed, pointing at Roy as if he was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "We captured them to get you and Hohenheim to come here! We'll still need another human sacrifice after this, but that can easily be arranged."

"Wait...I'm a human sacrifice?"

Envy shrugged, cracking his neck. "A candidate, but that's close enough for now. I'm sure there's lots of ways I can convince you to open the Gate for us. Like the little pipsqueak over there." He pointed at Edward, who still hadn't moved. "Do you like my handiwork? I got some of my best results...like this."

With a flash, Roy found himself staring at his own face twisted in an evil grin. "What was that, Full Metal?" Envy taunted in Roy's own voice. "Crying for Mommy and Daddy? I'm sure if you scream a little louder they'll hear-"

Envy's voice cut off as a gout of flame blasted in his face. Roy loomed over him, teeth gritted in rage and disgust. "You have a filthy mouth, Envy," he snarled. "Will burning your tongue be enough to shut you up?"

Envy's eyes were streaming from the pain and smoke billowed out of his mouth, so Roy snapped his fingers again and burned the inside of his mouth, shoving the flames down Envy's windpipe into his lungs, so he could only writhe around in pain on the floor, unable to even scream.

Though he wanted nothing more than to make Envy feel every second of pain he'd inflicted on others, Roy dragged himself away while Envy was still healing himself, and rushed to Edward's side. He grabbed one of the deadly knives from the floor and used it to cut through the leather straps, catching Edward as his dead weight fell forward.

"Ed?" he muttered, pushing the boy's hair out of his face and feeling for his pulse. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly, Edward's eyes slid open and he focused on Roy's face. "Dad...?"

"Shh, don't talk," Roy said, pressing Edward's face against his chest. The boy's confusion worried him; he could only hope nothing had been permanently damaged. "We're going to get you out of here, don't worry."

"Look out!" Alphonse's voice suddenly cried.

Roy was already snapping as he whirled around. Envy, who had crept closer while he was preoccupied, fell to the ground yet again, a knife falling from his fingers as they burned to ash. Roy snapped again for good measure, then hoisted Edward's filthy body to a better position in his arms. He grabbed Alphonse before he left, tucking the cold piece of metal into the crook of Edward's arm so he could keep one hand free for alchemy.

He ran, ignoring Envy's enraged screams behind him, knowing the Homunculus wouldn't be able to keep up for several minutes. It was harder to ignore Edward's feverish mumbles, but Roy listened to them hungrily. They meant he was still alive.


	86. Unconscious

**Author's Note: I'm not completely happy with this chapter, because I feel like it's too cliché of a scenario, but I tried to experiment a little with style this time. It was surprisingly hard to get inspired for this, but I got it out eventually.**

**Timeline: Midseries (after introduction of Scar)**

**Theme 86: Unconscious**

_for the anonymous person who requested this and probably thinks I rudely ignored them, though the truth is I just couldn't reply_

Roy launched himself down the hill with a curse, tripping over rocks and his own feet in his haste. His eyes raked over the river rushing far below, even though he knew it was too late. He wouldn't see a blond head bobbing under the rushing water, or a red back floating along with the current.

He was too late. Too slow. Too weak.

"_Hurry it up, Mustang! Scar's getting away!"_

_Roy tried to focus on lowering his feet carefully onto each plank of the rotting rope bridge. It was hard to ignore the rushing mountain river far below, especially when he could see it clearly between each plank. One wrong step, and it would all be over. He realized, belatedly, that this had been Scar's intent. He'd drawn them out, far away from the little town they'd tracked him to, and sent them on a wild obstacle course in the hopes of getting them killed._

_But Roy refused to let him have his way._

Skidding down a steep incline, Roy barely noticed as his arm scraped against a sharp rock, leaving a bloody gash across his skin. He leapt down several more feet and bounded through the underbrush, impatiently thrusting bushes and brambles out of his way.

His eyes were still fixed on the river, rushing inexorably on, taking everything with it.

_Impatient, Edward stepped onto the bridge as well, confidently striding forward despite the ominous swaying and creaking._

_Roy kept walking forward. "Go back, Full Metal!" he growled. "I don't trust this bridge with both our weights."_

"_You're going too slow!" Edward complained behind him. "At this rate, Al and the others will run into Scar and we won't even be there, and then what'll they do?"_

_Roy whirled around angrily and began to retort, but they both froze as they heard a loud _snap_ and the bridge began to tip to one side. Roy clutched at the rope railing as one of the ropes holding the bridge in place frayed and pulled loose. As the bridge began to fall, Roy scrambled for the other side, grabbing onto one of the sturdy posts driven into the cliff side. He turned and barely caught Edward's right hand as the remains of the bridge tumbled down the ravine to the river far below._

_Edward raised frightened eyes to Roy, clinging to his hand for dear life._

There he was. Roy's heart leapt into his throat as he saw a wad of red cloth caught in the branches of a tree that had fallen into the river. He was half-submerged, his head under the water, and there was no struggle in him. Roy grabbed the back of the boy's jacket and hauled him out of the water, practically throwing him onto the shore.

Sopping wet, pale face, eyes closed. Unconscious. Not moving. Not _breathing._

"No no no no no..." Roy mumbled, barely realizing he was speaking, as he pushed Edward's wet hair out of his face and felt for a pulse in his neck.

Nothing.

_Roy tried to heave them both up over the edge of the cliff, but it was all he could do to hang on. Edward's metal limbs dragged him down, and his fingers trembled around the rough wood of the post, threatening to give way altogether._

_Edward's eyes moved from the rushing water below, to his hand clamped around Roy's, to Roy's failing grip. His face grew horribly calm, the fear fading into resolve. "Let me go."_

"_Are you insane?" Roy yelled, gripping Edward even tighter._

_Edward wriggled his fingers, trying to squeeze out of Roy's grip, but Roy held firm. "If you don't save yourself, we'll just go down together. Don't be stupid."_

"_I'm not going to play out this cliché, Ed!" Roy yelled, barely aware of what he was saying. "You make an awful melodramatic hero, so don't even try!"_

_Edward pressed his fingertips together around Roy's hand, not taking his eyes away from Roy's face. "Take care of Al for me," he said softly._

_Roy screamed, but his voice was lost in the rush of the water. Edward touched his left hand to his right arm, deconstructing it at the elbow and immediately plummeting into the river. Just like that, he was gone, leaving Roy with only a useless half-arm and an agony ripping his soul apart._

Everything converged on this moment, this single moment where time stood still. Time seemed to slow to a snail's crawl, a sense of inevitable dread rushing towards him like a train speeding towards him too fast to stop. Roy clenched his hands together, pressed them against Edward's chest, and pumped steadily, in time with his own heart. It seemed sluggish, as though he would at any moment lie down and just _stop_ like Edward had.

It wasn't working. There was no response, no answering beat from the heart that was always so steady and large and _strong_. Edward's pale face grew greyer and greyer as he worked, as though he was already beyond reach. With a choked curse, Roy took a deep breath, pinched Edward's nose closed, and clamped his mouth over the boy's, breathing for him. The boy's chest rose and fell, but when Roy straightened up, he was as still and unresponsive as ever.

He kept working mechanically, mind horribly blank as he tried not to think of how useless this was. How long had Edward's face been held underwater? How long had it taken slow, sluggish Roy Mustang to stumble his way down the river and find him?

Too long. That was all he knew. _Too long._

He didn't stop, even as the minutes dragged on and on and he knew there was little hope. He _couldn't_ stop, because if he did that would mean he had lost someone else, yet another person throwing his life away to save him. He hated himself. Why hadn't _he_ been the one to take the fall? Why was he so much more important that Edward felt he had to give up his very _life_ for him?

But wouldn't Edward have asked the same questions if their places had been reversed? What if he were lying cold and silent, and Edward was the one desperately trying to save him? He had no doubt that Edward would.

It happened so suddenly Roy almost didn't understand what was going on. The boy let out an almighty cough, spitting up unbelievable amounts of river water quickly followed by vomit. Roy hastily turned him onto his side and supported him as the coughs gradually subsided and became wheezing breaths clawing for air.

Roy held his grimy, wet subordinate close, taking comfort in the shuddering breaths and steady heartbeat. He said nothing. There was nothing _to_ say. But his breaths shuddered in his chest as well, and warm trickles of water joined the cold river water on the back of Edward's neck.


	87. Change

**Author's Note: Okay, so this is an AU of an AU, so hopefully it won't get too confusing. It's an alternate ending to "Please/Request," a different way things could have happened after Mustang was turned into Lust. When I got a request for something like this, my heart sank a little with dread – everyone's going to hate me! XD I'll just say that I prefer my original ending to the story, but this was still fun to write.**

**Timeline: AU of "Please/Request"**

**Theme 87: Change**

_for Hunter-Re, who is entirely to blame __

It was an unsettling experience, to be a Homunculus. Roy had somehow managed to hold onto his own identity within the raging tempest of souls that made up the core of Lust, and he floated somewhere deep inside the stone in his chest. He could look out at the world through his eyes, feel every sensation, but he had no control over his own body. Even when he attacked his friends, he couldn't do anything to stop himself. It was like being trapped inside a robot, and no one could hear his screams.

And scream he did. No one could hear his voice echoing around his own head, and Lust pretended to ignore him, but he kept trying. Anything to distract or annoy Lust, anything to thwart his plans. He wouldn't let his body be used for Father's purposes like that.

But what could he do, really, when it came down to it? Roy realized, when he hurt Hawkeye, that he wouldn't be able to stop Lust from attacking and destroying everything he held dear. Though Lust usually pretended not to notice the clamoring voice in his head, Roy could feel the vicious pleasure run through his own body as he attacked his own subordinates and did everything he wanted to do least. It sickened him to his very core, even as he reasoned that it wasn't really _him_ who was doing any of it. Lust controlled his body, leaving everything that he touched dirty. It was like cockroaches scuttling around under his skin.

Lust was pacing through the underground corridors under Central, patrolling under Father's orders, when Edward appeared. As soon as he saw the small figure ahead in the shadows, wearing his customary black clothes and his right arm gleaming with a transmuted blade, Roy felt everything in his shriveled identity freeze.

"No," he said (or thought; it didn't make much difference when you were a voice in your own head). "Not Full Metal. Please, no..."

But as usual, Lust ignored him and raised an arm, his lips twisting into an ugly smirk. "You are such a fool, Edward Elric. You should not have come here alone."

Roy screamed a warning as Lust's fingers extended into sharp points, crossing the distance to Edward's neck in an instant. But Edward was ready for the attack even without hearing Roy's silent cry. He knocked Lust's fingers aside with a swipe of his bladed arm, and Roy felt the shock of the blow all the way up to his shoulder.

As Lust controlled his body in a battle against the boy, Roy threw his will against the invading force. With all his might, he tried to stop his own limbs, keep his own fingers from shooting into Edward's body. He should have realized that Edward would come after him – his youngest, bravest subordinate, the one who wouldn't take no for an answer, who would always try again and again even if it seemed impossible. Only he would have come back to try to redeem him, and he was just foolish enough that he could save him.

But they were fighting a losing battle. Lust was just too strong, too vicious, too embedded in Roy's very being that he couldn't shove it aside without pushing himself aside as well. In the end, were they really so different? Hadn't Lust controlled him before he had ever heard of Homunculi? Hadn't it crept into his every waking thought since he had become a man? Lust for pleasure, for power, for control, for everything that would satisfy his ravenous desires...

A voice rang through the howling cacophony in his mind – clear, sharp, focused, like the point of a needle. "You're wrong, Mustang!"

Roy looked out of his own eyes, gazing in astonishment at Edward – when had he become so covered with wounds? How much time had passed?

"I know you care about them," Edward called to him, his eyes honest and determined. "I know you love them. You love Hawkeye, don't you?"

Hawkeye. The image of her face floated before his eyes, but even Lust couldn't taint the way he saw her. He realized that now. She remained pure and unblemished in his mind, a beacon of light in the whirling darkness. Of course she was beautiful, and he _wanted_ her...but oh, there was so much more. Even if she never looked at him again...even if she hated him now...all he wanted was for her to be happy. To be well, and safe. He wanted her to smile, to laugh, to keep being the wonderful person she was now.

Even as his heart swelled with that dear, familiar ache, Lust fought back with everything it had. It pushed him back into a tiny corner of his own mind, disorienting him in the rush of wailing souls. Roy lost all sense of what was going on for several minutes, only dimly aware of Edward shouting and his body moving to attack.

"Hughes!" came the distant cry. "Hughes loved you! You were best friends-"

Roy pushed with all his might, his mind and his heart full of the man he still loved like a brother. But Lust pushed back with the last of its dying strength, and when Roy finally broke through...he stared in horror at the result.

His first two fingers had gone right through Edward's chest. Blood already bloomed around them, creating a large wet patch on his shirt and making the long black fingers shiny with blood. Horrified, Roy retracted his fingers, barely noticing that he was in control now. Edward collapsed into a heap, and Roy rushed forward to catch him. He held a hand over the wound, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of that small body, but he knew it was already too late.

Golden eyes met his, still strong and determined even though they were unfocused and glassy, dimming to a dull bronze. The boy's breath rattled in his throat, as he took a deep breath and rested one bloody hand on top of Roy's. "And...I love you...too..."

He saw the change in Edward's eyes, felt the desperate struggle for life leave his body. Roy sat in shock for a moment, staring at the dead body in front of him. He had _killed_ him. His own subordinate. The very person he had promised himself he would protect, the one he had tried so hard to shield from the cruelties of the military. The only one who had turned back, who had still held out hope for him even after such a horrible turn of events.

Roy Mustang tipped his head back and screamed the agony in his heart for all the world to hear. He could feel something leave – something black and ugly, twisting and writhing in mortal pain as it was ripped from the very core of his being – but he hardly cared. He could feel Lust crumbling into ash and dust, thrown out of him at last...but it didn't matter anymore.

Eventually he ran out of breath, and then he held Edward close and wept until the body was stiff and cold in his arms. Then the tears were gone, and he could only sit there. Eventually someone would find him, he knew. Alphonse would figure out where Edward had gone. They would come and see what had happened, and tell him it wasn't his fault. He hadn't been the one to kill Edward, and had done everything he could. They would forgive him, make sure no one in the military found out he'd killed his own subordinate. They would be glad that Lust had been conquered and he could rejoin them once more.

But none of that mattered. He knew what he'd done. What he'd failed to prevent. Edward's blood was on his hands, and he would take it to the grave.

How he longed for that grave now, but he knew he couldn't impale himself on Edward's sword-arm as he longed to do. He had things to accomplish, more lives to protect. He would push himself up and keep moving forward, as Edward always did. But he knew, with a sick weight in his chest, that he would never be the same again. He had died in the same moment he had killed Edward Elric.


	88. Point of View

**Author's Note: I've long wanted to detail my headcanon of what would happen after Brotherhood. This is different from my postseries AU in which Ed is still a State Alchemist. But really, I don't think he'd just leave the military behind completely, so this is my idea of what he'd do in the Brotherhood universe.**

**Timeline: Postseries (maybe ten years after manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 88: Point of view**

_for awesomenaruto, who gave me just the right push  
_

Edward often asked himself what had possessed him to accept the job. He'd been doing just fine on his pension, hadn't he? Living out in the country with Winry, Trisha, and Aaron, taking up odd jobs when money was tight, working on his theory about equivalency in his free time. He'd thought he was content. He _was_ content.

And yet, when Mustang called him up and asked if he would take the new position of State Alchemist Advisor, he immediately accepted and began making arrangements to move his family to Central. Winry had smiled when he told her what he was planning to do. "I was waiting for something like this to happen," she'd said fondly. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stand being out of the thick of things for long."

Maybe some part of him missed that life. Maybe it was his desire to return to the days when he could still transmute. Maybe, he thought with wry amusement, it was his way of imparting his _great_ wisdom to the next generation. Or maybe – just maybe – it had something to do with working under Roy Mustang again.

But whatever had brought him to this moment, to this small office on the top floor of Central Headquarters, he had a job to do now. The State Alchemist applicants were dealt with the same way they had been when Edward had signed up – written, psychological, and practical tests weeding each applicant out until only one or two remained. Under Bradley's regime, they would have received their State Alchemist licenses and second names already, but things were different now that Mustang was in charge.

Edward pushed himself to his feet as Parker showed the two finalists into his office. They stood in front of his desk, looking uncomfortably unsure of whether they ought to salute or not. On the left stood a reedy, bookish man with round glasses and close-cropped brown hair. The other applicant was a short, stocky woman with a mess of red curls fanning all around her face in a bright cloud. Phillip Romano and Anthea Granger, the only ones who'd made it through every stage of the examination.

"So," Edward said, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms and legs. "Why do you think you're here?"

The two glanced at each other, then Anthea said, "So you can assess our abilities and see if we qualify for the State Alchemist program."

Edward smirked. "Wrong!" he sang out, enjoying their surprised expressions. "You've already passed the written exam, psychological testing, and both of you had outstanding practical demonstrations. If we were just concerned with your ability, you'd already _be_ State Alchemists." Phillip and Anthea glanced at each other again, both of them looking confused.

"That's not enough, you know," Edward continued. They were both about his age, but they seemed so much younger. Wide-eyed and naïve, they knew so little about the world – especially the world of the military. "You've heard of Zolf J. Kimbley?" He barely waited for their nods, mind racing back to every unsettling interaction and fight he'd had with the man. "He passed every examination the military could throw at him, _including_ the psych tests, and look what he was like – he killed his own men just because he liked the sound of explosions. He would've happily watched the world burn if he could have."

He focused on the two standing before him again, frowning. "We don't need any more Kimbleys in the military. You need to understand the gravity and responsibility of your position. And if you can't accept it...then _you_ will not be accepted." His eyes slid from one nervous face to the other, and he smiled in satisfaction to know they were wondering what they would be tested on this time.

Turning back to his desk, he picked up the paper on which he'd arranged it all. "Phillip Romano," he barked, "go to the Briggs mountains. And Anthea Granger, you go to the desert. Don't worry, I've got maps for you, marking out what your territory will be. I'm also giving each of you a knife, and a train ticket to your destination." He handed them over, ignoring the completely clueless looks on their faces. "Both of you will stay in your designated areas for a month. Exactly thirty days. Absolutely no alchemy is allowed during that time."

Anthea's eyes were as big as saucers and Phillip's jaw was hanging open. Edward fought back a laugh and barked out, "One is all, all is one. Tell me what this means when you return. Your performance will be reviewed, and then we'll talk about what you can do for your country." He raised an eyebrow at them as they stood there, frozen in shock. "Well? Don't just stand there; your trains leave in fifteen minutes. A car is waiting outside to take you to the station. No, don't think about stopping for supplies; you're going to have to rely on just your wits from now on. See you in a month!"

Looking as though they had just been slapped in the face with ice-cold water, Phillip and Anthea left Edward to grin to himself in his empty office. He chuckled and settled himself back behind his desk. Mustang would probably get on his case about his methods once he heard what had happened, but he didn't care. This was the best way to assess what they were truly like. Obviously, he had men trailing them, keeping an eye on them and making sure they wouldn't die, and they would send back regular reports on what they were doing. There was no better way to see what they would be like out on the field, away from supervision.

Mustang would go on and on about ethics, and give proof of all the State Alchemists who had never endured what he and Izumi had, yet still proven to be trustworthy and capable State Alchemists. He'd probably cite his own example, relatively luxurious as he never had to do anything more strenuous than study in a rundown mansion.

But Edward had promised when he signed up for this job that he would bring changes to the State Alchemist program. Mustang would be satisfied when he saw the results. Edward was determined to change people's point of view, to make State Alchemists more than just human weapons who sold their souls to the state and did whatever they were told. He would make them more than Mustang had ever been.


	89. Parting Gift

**Author's Note: It took me a long time to realize that yes, I was going to have to take the obvious route with this chapter. Sometimes it's best to go with your first idea after all.**

**Timeline: Postseries (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 89: Parting gift**

Roy had always thought that when Edward Elric left the military, there would be more ceremony involved. Some kind of recognition for everything he'd done for the country – maybe a fancy little plaque or certificate, perhaps even a few fireworks to celebrate the departure of one of the most difficult people to put up with.

But when that day actually came, it all felt so anticlimactic. Edward handed him the appropriate form that he'd filled out, Roy signed it with a flourish, and that was it. When Roy handed back the form, Edward looked at it, drew a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders, staring at Roy's loopy signature. He smiled a little, and it seemed like a heavy weight they'd both forgotten about lifted from his shoulders.

He was the Full Metal Alchemist no more. Now he was just Edward Elric.

"So this is it," Roy said softly, surprising himself with how sad his voice was. He cleared his voice and dredged up one last smirk. "I finally have you out of my hair."

The irritation in Edward's voice sounded slightly forced as well. "It's hard to believe I won't have to put up with your crap anymore, isn't it?" Then the false cheer fell from his voice and he looked natural again. "Oh, I almost forgot – I have to give you this, I guess." He dug in his pocket and dropped his silver watch into Roy's waiting hand.

Roy ran his thumb over the lid of the watch, worn smooth over the years so that the face of the Amestrian dragon was disfigured. The symbol of the State Alchemist, the final piece of the Full Metal Alchemist's identity. The last link in the chain tying him to the military.

His fingers closed around the small circle, warm from Edward's pocket. He looked up keenly into Edward's eyes. "Are you sure?"

Edward hesitated, eyes trailing down to the watch. They both knew this wasn't just a timepiece to him. Roy had seen the inscription Edward had etched into the inside cover of the watch, had seen him look at it from time to time. It was his constant reminder of why he did what he did, why he was prepared to sacrifice everything. The date that he and Alphonse had burned their house down and set out on their quest for the Philosopher's Stone, not expecting to return.

Taking another deep breath, Edward looked back up at his former superior and smiled. It was a genuine smile, free of the tension and desperation Roy was so accustomed to seeing. "Yeah," he said simply. "I'm sure."

"You know I won't be able to do anything with this," Roy said, returning his attention to the watch and flipping it open to look at the inscription again. "Not with..."

The words died on his lips. The words _Don't Forget 3 Oct. 11_ had been smoothed over with alchemy, and in their place a new message had been carved.

_Don't Forget Me._

When he'd finally remembered how to breathe, Roy choked out, "Don't be ridiculous. How could I-"

But when he looked up, Edward was already gone. Roy's fingers closed around the watch, snapping the lid shut. He slid Edward's parting gift into his pocket, where it clinked against his own pocket watch. They ticked away next to each other, their syncopated rhythm beating softly against his heart.


	90. I Want to Have

**Author's Note: As promised, this is the continuation of "Parents". Anyone familiar with my writing will know how much I love torture scenes, and this one just had so much potential, I **_**had**_** to explore it some more! I hope I characterized Envy well enough; I think everything he says is **_**true,**_** but I'm still not sure he would actually say it. But I wanted to explain a bit about why I think Envy would torture Ed like this, even though he's not allowed to kill him.**

**Timeline: Before/After "Parents"**

**Theme 90: I want to have...**

Edward cautiously ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth as Envy paced around the room like a lion stalking his prey. Thankfully, all of his teeth seemed to be intact, but his lip was bleeding freely and already swelling up. Maybe Alphonse was right and he shouldn't provoke Envy so much...

But it grated against everything he was, everything he'd made of himself. He was trussed up on an upright metal slab like something out of a cheesy horror flick – bound at wrists, ankles, and neck, limbs stretched out and giving him no opportunity to defend himself. Envy had taken great pleasure in stripping away every last article of clothing on his body too, making lewd comments all the while and leaving him completely vulnerable. Envy had already taken advantage of his unprotected stomach and chest several times, leaving a fancy mess of cuts and bruises that would take weeks to heal.

And the worst part was that he couldn't resist. Even two of the best alchemists in the country couldn't hold up forever against four Homunculi at once, and they'd managed to subdue Alphonse. After that, it only took one of Lust's fingers resting against the blood seal to convince Edward to cooperate. He'd tried an escape plan during the trip back to Central, but once again Lust only had to tap the blood seal before he gave himself up again.

All that was left of the giant suit of armor now was a slice of metal containing the blood seal, perched on a stool where it could be out of Envy's way but pointing directly at Edward. Without a movable body, Alphonse couldn't struggle or try to help. He couldn't even look away, but was forced to stare at the torment and humiliation Envy was putting his brother through. Edward felt worse for him than he did for himself, knowing better than anyone how it would kill Alphonse's kind heart to see the one he loved more than anyone else in such pain.

Edward had tried struggling a few more times, but Envy kept reminding him that they could easily find another human sacrifice to replace Alphonse, so he couldn't really resist. He had never felt so powerless in his life. So _weak!_

"Why are you doing this?" Alphonse spoke up, a glare audible in his voice. "You've got what you want, don't you? We can't escape – and you're not supposed to kill us. So why-"

Envy cackled, prowling back towards Edward. Every muscle in his body tensed with dread. "Isn't it obvious?" Envy leaned in so close that his foul breath puffed over Edward's face. "Because I _can._ I can do whatever I want with you, so long as I can hand you over to Father on the Promised Day." His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "And I want to have..._everything_ that you do."

Taken aback, Edward blurted out, "But why? Aren't you supposed to be superior to humans or something?"

Envy's laughter became madder than ever, hysteria seeping into his purple gaze. "I know! Isn't it funny? Me, Envy – wanting what a measly _worm_ like you has!" His face twisted to ugly rage. "I ought to _grind_ you under my _feet!_ Homunculi are the next link of the evolutionary chain – higher life forms who never die, made from perfect Philosopher's Stones. _So why do I want your life?_"

He grabbed Edward's chin, screaming into his face with a dangerous desperation teetering right on the brink of absolute insanity. Edward had never seen him like this, and he was terrified. So he stayed stock still, not even trying to pull his head out of Envy's grip, and stared warily at the raving Homunculus.

"You _humans_ all walk around, laughing and smiling without a single care. And I _want_ to laugh, to smile at someone and see them smile back. I want to know how fear feels – _real_ fear, when you know you might die! Do you have any idea how _boring_ it is, knowing that nothing you touch will ever kill you? What does satisfaction feel like? Completion, a sense of accomplishment – I can never enjoy any of that, because all I feel is _envy!_ That's the only thing Father's left me!"

With a shuddering breath, Envy dropped his hands to Edward's shoulders, hanging his head so all Edward could see was a mess of black hair. "And that's another thing," Envy continued in a harsh whisper. "You humans are always in _families._ Mothers, fathers, siblings... I know what that's like, kind of. I have siblings, I have Father... But what is a mother? I've never had a mother. Why do they smile and make funny noises at their babies? Why do they love their children before they're even born? Why do they put up with all the noise and smells and fuss and bother? And fathers... Father never smiles at me. He never shows me any approval. He's not _proud _of me, because I'm really just a part of him. Why? _Why?_ Whywhywhywhywhy?" His head snapped up again and he shook Edward so hard he cracked his head against the metal behind him. "_Why does no one love me?_"

The trickle of pity that had entered Edward's heart fled immediately as the wicked smile returned to cover up Envy's desperation. "But if I can't have what _you_ have...then at least you can know what _I_ suffer." His mad cackle returned, somehow lighting up his grin with an even brighter gleam of insanity than before. "So many people love you, runt. Your brother...your girly-friend...all those people at the military. Even Colonel Matchstick!" He leaned closer so the only thing Edward could see was his eyes glittering with malice. "But I'm going to rip that allllllll away."

* * *

Roy's breath wheezed in and out of his lungs, a dozen knives stabbing him with every gasp. As small and starved as Edward was, it was still a colossal effort to run up two flights of stairs carrying such a burden. And it didn't help that he had to keep turning around and burning Envy, who followed doggedly on his heels as fast as his body could regenerate.

But what worried him the most (he thought dimly as he struggled up the second flight of stairs to the ground floor) were the brief snatches he caught of Edward's hazy mumblings. The same words, feebly whispered over and over again: "Dad...please don't hurt me..."

When he finally made it to the top, Roy had to collapse against the wall to catch his breath. He crouched awkwardly, trying to keep his feet under him and balance Edward on his knees to give his shaking arms some relief. Keeping an eye on the staircase to be ready when Envy reappeared, Roy gasped for breath and listened to Edward's pitiful voice.

"Don't hurt me... Dad, please, don't hurt me..."

"Shhhh...it's okay, Brother, we're okay now..."

"Al," Roy panted as soon as he had enough breath. "Is he all right?"

"I...I think so," Alphonse said in a tiny voice. "If we can get him to the hospital."

"Don't hurt me, Dad..."

Roy carefully shifted his arms to hold Edward more securely. "Why does he keep saying that?"

There was a tiny, heartbroken sound like a little sob. "That's...what Envy made him say. When he'd make himself look like you."

The snake that crept out of the shadows of the staircase, attempting to sneak up on Roy, died before it knew what hit it. As the snake's ashes regenerated into the howling form of Envy, Roy surged to his feet again and kicked the Homunculus right in the mouth, scattering half-formed teeth in all directions. With a shriek of pain, Envy toppled back down the stairs, bouncing off each step with a sickening crack each time.

Roy wanted nothing more than to burn the monster until there was nothing left, and grind the ashes under his heel. But the burden in his arms weighed heavier than ever, so he turned and ran back into the large room where he'd left Hohenheim. The battle still raged between him and the two Homunculi. Hohenheim was down to his shirtsleeves now, his coat lying in tatters on the ground, but other than that he looked no worse for the wear. Even as he kept up the attack, he looked over at Mustang, eyes widening.

"Quick – out to the car!"

Roy obeyed without question, hurrying across the large open space as quickly as he could. Once he made it through the other doors, Hohenheim began slowly retreating behind him, holding off the Homunculi as long as he could. They made their way back through the labyrinth of booby-trapped corridors, their progress much faster now that all the traps had been tripped, and at long last they stepped out into the cool pre-dawn air outside.

As soon as they dove into the car Roy had left outside the lab, they knew they were safe. Even the Homunculi couldn't risk chasing after them so openly, not when the residents of Central would soon start rousing themselves and heading for work. Because of Edward, Roy had leapt into the passenger seat. He awkwardly shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around the boy's naked frame, the black cloth engulfing him so he looked even smaller than normal. He tucked Alphonse into the folds of cloth, where he could easily see Edward and Roy at the same time.

After taking several wild, break-neck turns, Hohenheim slowed down to a safe driving speed and headed towards the hospital. He glanced over at his sons and said tightly, "How are they?"

Roy looked up from brushing filthy strands of Edward's hair out of his face. He considered a moment, then said, "Alive." He wished there was more he could say, but it was hard to tell yet.

Edward, who had been unconscious a moment before, suddenly jerked into a half-sitting position, staring wildly around himself and yelling, "Dad?"

"Easy, Ed, easy," Roy soothed, holding him tighter and rubbing his arm through the coat. "It's all right now, you're safe."

But he didn't relax. "Where's Al? What've you done to him?"

"I'm right here, Brother."

Edward immediately wilted, grasping the little piece of steel and cradling it against his chest with a weary sigh. But before he could fall back to sleep, Roy leaned over him and said gently, "Ed, do you know who I am?"

When the boy looked up at him, a flash of fear crossed his face, but then it was gone. "'Course," he said shortly. "You're Mustang."

Roy knew he ought to let the boy sleep, but he persisted. "How can you be sure?"

Edward curled his legs close to his chest, snuggling down under Roy's coat. "'Cause you look at me different."


	91. Control

**Author's Note: I hate Valentine's Day with a burning passion, because I see it as the commercialized glorification of everything that love is **_**not.**_** In recent years, I've taken to writing a fic for Valentine's Day that demonstrates, with one pairing or another, what **_**true**_** love is all about. At first I was bummed this year, because I'm fresh out of ideas for romance. But then I realized that, in a way, this chapter is absolutely perfect. So here you go, a bonus chapter!**

**I need to warn you up front that this chapter is most definitely rated M, for torture (psychological as well as physical), sensuality, and one instance of language. I was really testing my own limits with this chapter, but as those familiar with the way I write will know, I did not write any of this lightly. I thought long and hard about each decision, and tried several different ways of writing each instance so I could make sure this really was the best way I could write it. The last section of this chapter contains something I'm not expecting most of my readers to understand or accept, and if you're unable to see this as anything but romantic RoyEd, then I'm sorry but I understand. It was the thing I debated putting in more than anything else, but in the end I'm glad I did. I truly believe there is nothing going on in that scene other than the fatherly/brotherly relationship I've established throughout this fic. Anyway, warnings aside, this is a continuation of the previous chapter, because yes, I really do love torture that much, and this entire scenario needed more exploration and conclusion.**

**Timeline: Before/After "I want to have..."**

**Theme 91: Control**

"Come on, pipsqueak, just tell me. Am I going to have to threaten your brother again?"

Edward glared daggers at Envy, but since Envy was flipping a _real_ dagger from one hand to the other, he knew there was nothing he could do to resist. "I said it was purely professional. He's my superior, that's it."

"Awww, come on now," Envy drawled, leaning in just close enough to invade Edward's personal space. And since Edward was lashed to a metal slab and couldn't move an inch, he couldn't pull away from his least favorite person in the world. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you? You've spent a _lot_ of time together over the years. Done missions together...gone to him for advice... I _know_ there's more to it than that." He pressed the point of his dagger into the soft skin just above Edward's sternum, hard enough to draw a bead of blood. "I'll ask once again," he breathed, eying the red liquid trickling down the blade. "What is your relationship to Roy Mustang?"

Edward's gaze flicked down to the dagger, then over to Alphonse perched on the stool across the room. Swallowing hard, he said, "He's like a..." He closed his eyes, feeling his face grow hotter with every word.

"Yes?" Envy hissed, leaning in closer, the point of his blade jabbing under the skin again.

"Father." It was as though Envy reached down into him and wrenched the word from the deepest, most secret part of Edward's heart.

Slowly, Envy drew back and looked at him, his purple eyes unreadable. Then he began to chuckle, his laughter growing stronger and stronger until he threw back his head and shrieked with mirth, his voice echoing around the room as though a demon had been trapped in this small chamber. As he laughed, sparks of alchemy skittered across the Homunculus' skin, transforming him into the likeness of a man who was all too familiar. Blue military uniform...messy black hair...strong hands...and a deep, familiar voice laughing hysterically. Edward had never heard Mustang laugh like that.

Envy, wearing Mustang's skin and a sinister smile that stretched his familiar face into a grotesque mockery, turned his attention back to his captive. "Now," he said slowly, triumphantly, like a cat licking its chops as it played with a frantic mouse. "Tell your Daddy not to hurt you."

"What? But I don't call him-"

Stars appeared in Edward's vision as a punch landed on his jaw out of nowhere and the back of his head thudded against the metal behind him. Tasting blood, Edward squinted up at Mustang – no, Envy, _Envy, it's just a trick_ – and shuddered at the look in his eyes.

Envy leaned in so the only thing he could see was the impenetrable black void of his eyes. "I _said,_ tell dear old Daddy not to hurt you...or I'll be forced to hurt your little brother instead."

Though he wanted nothing more than to spit in Envy's face and call him every foul name he could think of, Edward gritted his teeth and growled, "Don't hurt me...Dad."

Envy laughed and patted his cheek. "You see? I have perfect control over you. I can make you do whatever I want. I _own_ you. Now say it again. But this time, remember the magic words." His voice took on a singsong quality that did nothing to lessen its malevolence.

Swallowing his pride and shame alike, Edward muttered, "Please...don't hurt me, Dad."

_Wham._ His eyes watered from the force of the blow, but he forced the tears back. He wouldn't give Envy the satisfaction.

"Again!" Envy barked in a remarkable imitation of Mustang's no-nonsense voice. "Say it again, because I'm not sure you really _mean_ it." He raised his fist again.

Edward raised his voice, everything in him grating against the words that left his mouth. "Please don't hurt me, Dad!"

Envy laughed and backhanded him across the face. "Once more!"

Edward had lost track of how long he'd been trapped here, bound hand and foot in this cold cell with only his captor and an increasingly silent brother for company. The same weariness he felt echoed from Alphonse's tinny voice across the room as he tried in vain to get Envy to stop. But they both knew by now that Envy had no intention of stopping. Not until the Promised Day, whenever that was, and then they would probably die anyway.

That was the worst part, Edward thought. Dying would almost be a relief at this point, but Envy wouldn't even allow him that. He wasn't allowed to let either of them die, so he ensured that every moment of his life was a torment. Even the scant few hours he let Edward sleep (usually when he was called off by his master for some other duty) continued the torture. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Envy laughing at him, tormenting him, humiliating him in a thousand creative ways. It was getting harder and harder to tell what was real, and what was just a dream. They blended into each other without end.

Envy's favorite pastime was taking on the form of everyone Edward knew and finding the best way to torment him. No matter how many times he taunted Edward in this manner, it never failed to hurt. It didn't matter that he knew it was really Envy behind all those familiar faces. His tormentor had an uncanny knack for saying exactly the things that would hurt the most coming from the voices he knew best.

But even Edward's normally unflagging energy couldn't hold out forever. After a while, he just couldn't react anymore, no matter what Envy said or did to him. This seemed to anger Envy more than anything else. "What's wrong with you?" he roared in Edward's face when smacking him around in Scar's form couldn't dredge up even the tiniest amount of fear.

Envy ran a hand over Scar's chiseled Ishbalite face and muttered to himself, "No, it's time for a softer approach. You're getting numb to physical pain, and I can't do much more without risking your life... I guess I'll just have to do...this."

Edward looked up warily as he heard Envy transforming again, but then he froze, unable to pull his eyes away. Envy had turned into Winry, but she was...wrong. Her chest was bigger, her waist smaller, a strange sheen on her skin. And there was a lot of skin. Winry often wore small tops during the summer or when she was in her workshop, but she was always modest about it, wearing them more for comfort than anything else. But Envy had her wearing a zippered top Edward had seen her in several times, with the zipper pulled down so it was almost completely undone. It left very little to the imagination, and since his imagination was already running wild, Edward tore his eyes away and stared at the wall instead.

He could feel heat blossom in his cheeks and spread down his neck as Envy stalked towards him, walking in a way that accentuated Winry's exaggerated curves. Edward could see it in his peripheral vision, and the leather strap around his neck wouldn't allow him to turn away, so he closed his eyes instead and tried to think about something else. _It's Envy, you idiot. Envy!_

"Ohhhh, Edward..." Envy said in Winry's voice, but he'd never heard Winry talk like that before – husky, languid, like she was lounging in the shade on a hot summer's day. "I've been saving _this_ one for a long time." Her body pressed against him, her arms twining around his neck. He could feel every inch of her, and he tried to pull away, ashamed of how much he _liked_ it. This was _wrong._ This was _Envy,_ and he had _no right_ to use Winry's body like this...

Winry's warm breath ghosted over his cheek, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Don't get _excited,_ now," Envy murmured into his ear. Long nails dug into his throat. "The only reason I'm not going to take _full_ advantage of you right here and now is that Homunculi don't have reproductive organs. Pity." Envy pulled back and patted Edward's burning cheek, a wicked smile twisting Winry's kind face. "I'm sure this body would give you a _great_ time, but I would hate to give you a pleasure I couldn't share in myself."

Edward wanted to curl up into a ball and shut out the world, but all he could do was curl up his fingers and toes and breathe deeply, trying not to cry. Alphonse was trying to reassure him, telling him that none of it was real, he didn't have to worry...but Edward just wished he would stop. He didn't want to think about any of this ever again.

But Envy wasn't finished yet. He prowled around Edward in Winry's form, as though looking for another angle to attack. He stopped short, then began to chuckle. Winry's light laugh deepened as he transformed, growing from a teenage girl to a man. "I know just the thing," he said in Roy Mustang's voice, slipping back into his favorite form of torment.

"Please, Dad, don't hurt me!" The words tumbled out of Edward's mouth almost of their own accord, rehearsed over and over from hours of Envy's relentless tutelage. His apprehension at whatever Envy was planning lent an extra edge of panic to his voice.

Envy stepped forward, tilting Edward's chin up to look at him. "Don't worry, Full Metal," he said in a smug voice that was all too familiar. "I'm not going to _hurt_ you. This is only natural. Haven't you heard the rumors flying around Headquarters? The rumors about _us?_"

"Wh-What?" He couldn't drag his eyes away from those dead black eyes.

Mustang leaned closer. "The _real_ reason I worked so hard to get you under my command. Why I twisted your arm with your secrets so you wouldn't go running to anyone else. You are _mine,_ Full Metal. Surely you've realized by now? It's so obvious, even you must see it. You're so...young. Fresh. _Unspoiled._" His hand clamped around Edward's chin so he couldn't turn away. "I just can't take my eyes off you."

And then he jammed their lips together, prying open Edward's jaw with hands that were so strong they could easily shatter his skull. It was violent, hungry, as though Mustang was trying to devour his soul straight from his mouth, and he couldn't break away no matter how he struggled. Then he felt a tongue in his mouth, impossibly long, like the snake that Envy truly was.

With all his might, Edward bit down on that tongue, and Envy immediately recoiled with a shriek of pain. Edward coughed and choked, unable to shake off the sensation. He was dimly aware of tears running down his cheeks, but he didn't care anymore. He felt shamed, used. Violated.

Envy, now in his usual form, was bent double and spitting out muffled curses, hanging onto his table of torture implements for support. "Brother...?" came Alphonse's tentative voice from the other end of the room.

"'M...okay, Al," Ed said tremulously, but he didn't even believe himself.

Tossing his wild hair out of his face, Envy finally straightened again and glared at Edward. "Fine," he spat. "So that's how it's going to be, huh? We'll see about that."

He rummaged around with the tools on the table, flipping a switch on a strange device he'd never used before. With his bare hands, Envy wrenched open the panel on Edward's automail arm, then yanked out the exposed wires. Edward's right hand immediately fell limp, but he was more concerned with the clamp Envy was fixing to the ends of the wires.

"You'll regret that stunt you pulled, pipsqueak," he growled, then turned a dial on the machine.

All thought fled from Edward's mind as liquid fire rushed through every nerve in his body.

As Edward's words dwindled away to nothing, Roy stared at him for a moment. It had been a month, a solid _month_ since he and Hohenheim had rescued the boys from the Homunculi's clutches, and Edward hadn't said a word about what he'd suffered. Roy hadn't wanted to push him, hoping he could somehow forget the things he'd been through. But then, out of the blue, Edward had appeared in his office and started talking.

With a curse, Roy got to his feet and paced over to the window, staring at the buildings outside without seeing them. Sheer rage pounded through his veins. There was nothing, _nothing_ he would rather do than hunt down the monster who had done all of this to his subordinate and burn him down to ashes and crush the ashes into dust with his heel and throw the dust in a furnace and-

Roy slammed his fist against the window, feeling the glass shudder with the impact. He was completely powerless; he knew there was no way he could possibly face Envy on his own, not now that Hohenheim had disappeared again and all the Homunculi were on their guard.

"I'm sorry," said a tiny voice behind him, reminding him that Edward was still there.

"What on earth are _you_ sorry about?" Roy asked as he turned around, unable to keep some of his anger from seeping into his voice.

At some point during his tale, Edward had drawn his legs up onto the couch, and he sat hugging his knees to his chest, staring blankly at them. He flinched at the tone of Roy's voice, than ran his sleeve across his nose, sniffing loudly. Roy realized belatedly that the boy was crying. "I-I shouldn't have come," he mumbled into his knees. "I shouldn't have told you."

"No," Roy said, shoving down his anger deep inside him with difficulty. He strode over to the couch and perched on the coffee table in front of it, facing Edward. "It's...good you're talking about it."

"I just...I wanted to tell _someone,_" Edward said, still hiding behind his knees. "And Al was there so he knows what happened already...but I shouldn't have told _you._"

Those words pained him more than he wished to acknowledge. "Why? Don't you trust me?"

Edward sighed and lifted his tear-stained face. "'Course I do. But I..." He briefly met Roy's gaze, then quickly looked back down, a shudder passing through his small frame. "I _know_ it was Envy...and I know you don't deserve this. I mean, you saved my _life._ And you've done so much to help me, and you never complain, but... But every time I look at you...it's like I'm back _there._ And Envy's all...on me, and he's..." He gestured vaguely, his eyes staring into space as if he could still see Envy's manic grin. "And...And I can't get away, and I can hear him laughing, and..."

"Ed." Roy grasped Edward's hands, and the boy fell silent. But he didn't look up, only stared at their hands and shook with silent sobs.

Roy squeezed Edward's hands and placed them back on the boy's knees. He gently brushed Edward's long bangs out of his eyes and turned his head so they could look each other in the eye. Fear sprang into Edward's eyes, and he tried to turn away, but Roy held him still. His grasp was gentle, but just as unyielding as Envy's had been.

"Listen to me," Roy said, putting every ounce of the conviction he felt into his voice. "Don't you dare listen to anything that son of a _bitch_ said to you. He doesn't own you. You don't have to go along with anything he said. He can't control you. You're much too strong."

Two enormous tears rolled down Edward's cheeks. "No I'm not. Not anymore."

Roy wiped the tears away with his thumbs. "I believe you are. Why else would you have come to me, despite the fear you feel?" He smiled sadly, his heart swelling with pride. "Because you're still fighting. All this time, even when Envy thought he had you at his mercy, you were doing everything you could not to give in. You will make it through this, Edward Elric. You're the strongest person I know."

Something like hope lit in Edward's eyes. Hope, and the belief in himself that had been sorely lacking for far too long.

"Trust me." It was part question, but mostly request. Roy slowly looked from one of Edward's shining golden eyes to the other, until he saw that trust answering from their depths.

He leaned in, and placed a brief kiss on Edward's lips. He poured every ounce of the love and pride he felt for his young subordinate into that one simple gesture. There was none of the twisted desire or vengeful malevolence that Envy had inflicted, only compassion. Roy only wished he could wipe away the stain that monster had placed on those lips as easily as he had wiped away the tears. He wanted to do as Hughes did for his daughter, kissing her cuts and bruises until the pain went away.

Nothing he did could take away the pain Edward endured. Not when everything he did only served as a reminder of that very pain. Roy pulled away, knowing he had gone too far, cursing himself for acting on impulse. "Sorry," he said, quickly getting to his feet.

But before he could walk away, Edward surged to his feet as well. Because he stood on the couch, they could see eye to eye. They stood looking at each other for a moment, and before Roy realized what was happening, Edward's arms were around his neck and his face was buried in his shoulder.

"Thank you."


	92. Kiss

**Author's Note: This was actually the first chapter I plotted out, believe it or not. As with my other 100 Themes fic, **_**A Hundred Ways to Say You're My Brother,**_** I knew I had to make sure I could write this prompt in a non-yaoi way before I embarked on this epic quest. It's kind of weird to realize just how long I've had this idea sitting around in my head, and now it's finally written down. Also rather funny to realize that my original idea for this prompt turned into my fic "Silence-Carved Scars," which I posted almost three years ago O.O More recently, I briefly considered posting the previous chapter for this prompt, but in the end I decided it really did fit the previous prompt, and this one worked best for this prompt. Fun fact: General Akima's name comes from the movie Titan A.E., which I just watched last week (it's a weird sort of cross between Star Wars and Treasure Planet – cheesy at times, but full of good sci-fi fun). All the other names of soldiers I mention are Edward's men, because I've been wanting to flesh out his little squad some more.**

**Timeline: Several weeks after "We are equals on this ground"**

**Theme 92: Kiss**

With a blast of fire, Roy led the way into the Drachman prison at a swift march. There was no time to spare. Not after a solid _month_ of searching for this place. After such a long march over the Briggs mountains, through the northern region of Amestris and across the southern border of Drachma, they'd found nothing but a deserted, bloody battlefield. All of General Akima's forces, which they'd been rushing to support in preparation of a special surprise attack against the Drachman city Tetrobol, had been slaughtered before they'd even arrived.

They still didn't know if they'd been betrayed or just outnumbered, but the result was the same: The ambush had been turned on them instead, and in the confusion half their men were killed and several important officers had been captured. Namely, one _very_ important officer that Roy had vowed, even as he ordered a retreat, to rescue even if it cost him his own life.

Naturally the Drachman prison had guards, but they didn't stand a chance against Roy's alchemy. The few soldiers that remained to him had little to do but guard his flank as he stomped up and down the hallways of the prison complex. It was a relatively small building, built directly into the side of the mountain, heated by a convenient geothermal vent that rose from the depths of the earth. Apparently, only the worst criminals and war prisoners were sent to this out-of-the-way facility, where they could be forgotten about and left to rot.

As he smoked out every last one of the soldiers guarding this place, Roy tried not to think of the possibility that Edward was already dead. It only stood to reason, since it had taken them so long to find the prison, but...no. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't _let_ it be true. It would mean he had failed.

"Sir!" One of the men yanked him back just in time, a shot barely missing his nose. Two more soldiers immediately raised their guns and killed the next group of attackers, and they pressed on.

Roy knew he needed to focus on the present, so he wouldn't get himself and the rest of his men killed, but he couldn't keep his mind from rushing ahead to a thousand possible futures. _If anything happens to him,_ Alphonse had said when Edward had first been called to the front, _I will kill you._ And he believed it. He remembered the steely glint in the boy's eye, and he knew how the warmth and compassion he was so accustomed to would empty out into nothingness if Edward didn't return. How could he let something like this happen to the boys he had sworn he would never let the military touch?

Finally they reached the prison cells. While Roy burned the guards in that hallway to a crisp, he gestured for two of his men to start checking cells. He wanted nothing more than to run down the hall himself, screaming Edward's name, but he forced himself to station his men at either end of the hallway, keeping a lookout to make sure that they wouldn't be taken by surprise while they freed the prisoners.

"Sir." One of the soldiers who'd been searching the cells, a square-jawed woman named Brodie, approached him with a salute.

Roy whirled towards her before she could get another word out. "Have you found him?" he demanded, the words spilling out eagerly.

Brodie looked worried. "N-No, sir. The cells...well, there aren't any prisoners here, sir."

Roy blinked, sure he had misunderstood. "What? What do you mean, no prisoners?"

The other soldier, Rushgard, stomped up to him as well and growled out in his deep voice, "It's true, sir – all the cells are empty."

With a curse, Roy ordered his men to continue deeper into the prison. "We're going to tear this place apart until we find out where they are!"

"Yes, sir!" They were all keen to find their comrades, or at least get revenge. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

They had eliminated almost all of the soldiers in the prison, so they scoured the rest of that floor without running into any more guards. Roy was really beginning to worry when they stumbled upon another staircase leading even further down. They descended slowly, keeping watch on all sides for a possible attack.

At first, it seemed that the lowest level held another row of cells. But there were only five, and the doors of these cells were twice as thick as the ones above, fitted with an electronic locking mechanism that would seal the rooms completely, making them airtight and soundproof. Facing these doors, on the opposite side of the hallway, an alcove opened into a cozy little guardroom. Only one guard remained, but before he could even reach for his gun, Roy lunged over the desk cluttered with control panels and threw the man against the wall.

"Where is Edward Elric?" he yelled in the frightened man's face. He clutched the man's collar with one hand, and held his other hand ready to burn some answers out of him if necessary. "_Where is he?_ Don't even think about lying to me; I know you have him in here somewhere. Well? Answer me!"

"Sir..." Roy immediately recognized the hesitant voice behind him as Fisk, the balding, bespectacled man who always looked more like a scholar than a soldier. "I know some Drachman; perhaps I-"

"Yes, yes," Roy said impatiently, waving him forward. "Just find out where Colonel Elric is."

Fisk rattled off some Drachman, his hesitant voice becoming stern and demanding. The guard's eyes darted in between Fisk and his captor as he shakily replied, obviously still terrified that he would be strangled.

Fisk's eyes widened as he listened to the man's words. "He's in there!" he cried, pointing to the cell door marked '3'. Roy was about to drop the guard and rush over to see for himself, but Fisk continued, "But he says only he knows the right procedure to open it safely."

"What do you mean?"

Fisk shot a few more questions at the guard, who cringed and answered, as if certain that he would die for his words. Stunned, Fisk looked up at Roy and translated, "It's...It's a gas chamber. All the war prisoners were ordered into it to be executed once we infiltrated the prison. They've been in there ten minutes already, sir."

"Then don't just stand there, _open_ it!" Roy snarled at the guard, shoving him at the controls. The man didn't even need Fisk's interpretation, immediately flipping switches and turning knobs.

Gesturing Brodie forwards to help Fisk keep an eye on the guard, Roy stalked towards the cell door. "Don't kill him yet – we'll need all the information he can give us on this place."

It seemed to take an hour before the door opened, and Roy could only stand around uselessly. This was all his fault. Why hadn't he seen something like this coming? He should have made Edward leave the military before he'd turned sixteen, so he could never be sent to the front lines. He should have done everything in his power to prevent a mere _child_ from trekking all the way up north into Drachma and being thrown into the worst kind of prison imaginable. Now it was too late, and Edward was paying the price for Roy's stupidity.

The instant the door to the cell began to swing open, Roy leapt inside, quickly followed by a few of his men. Inside the bare, cramped cell lay the bodies of every officer that had been taken captive. Every blue-clad body lay on the floor, frozen in a dozen different poses of utmost agony. They were heaped up against the door, as though in their last few moments they were desperately trying to get out.

But as tragic and gruesome as it was, Roy had no time to spare grieving them. There was only one soldier he cared about now, and he refused to give up until he'd seen him. "Edward?" he called, even though he knew it was useless. He began heaving bodies off the top, digging down into the pile of corpses.

Maybe Edward wasn't here at all. That guard could be mistaken. Maybe Edward was still somewhere upstairs, or maybe he'd been transferred to a different prison entirely. A higher-security prison, one better equipped to hold an alchemist of his caliber. The other soldiers helped him, Rushgard heaving bodies into his arms with ease and handing them off to the others, who laid them out neatly and respectfully in the hallway.

Up to his waist in the bodies of his men, shoving aside limp arms and legs, Roy finally found him. "Ed!" He heaved at the automail arm glinting at the bottom of the pile and managed to grip the boy under the arms. Rushgard, hearing his cry, helped shovel the boy out of the press of bodies.

Roy stumbled into the center of the room, dragging Edward's body with him, and sank to his knees on the cold concrete floor. "No..."

Somehow, he'd been able to fool himself into hope all this time. He'd known, in the back of his mind, that it was pointless to hope any of the prisoners would make it out alive. _No one_ survived a Drachman prison in time of war. The strongest, bravest soldiers paled and shook at the thought of being captured by the Drachman army, knowing that their deaths would be as prolonged and painful as humanly possible.

And Edward was just a _child._ Roy held the tiny body, made even thinner and weaker by a month in this horrible place, and hid his face in the blue fabric of the boy's uniform as if he could hide from the truth. He could still see Edward's young, boyish face, eager and lit with hope, looking up at him with a confident grin as he declared that he would join the military and find the Philosopher's Stone. That young, impressionable boy had grown up since the Fuhrer had declared war on Drachma. He'd thrived under the responsibilities he'd been given, proven himself over and over again as he led his men through the Briggs mountains to the rendezvous point. He'd grown harder, colder, tougher – but had never given up who he was. He'd killed, yes, but always did what was best for the unit.

Roy was so proud of him. And now, despite everything, he'd failed him.

"Mustang? Why are you crying?"

He froze. Straightened. Edward's eyes were open, looking at him with bemusement.

Before he realized what he was doing, Roy planted a kiss on the boy's forehead and held him as tightly as he could, not caring who saw. It didn't matter, _nothing_ mattered now that Edward was alive again. Dimly, he was aware of Rushgard yelling to the others, "Hey – Colonel Elric's alive!"

Their cheer echoed around the hallway, heedless of any last guards they might attract. They all knew that nothing could stand in their way now that Colonel Elric was among them once again. Weakly, Edward pushed Roy a little farther away, massaging his ribs.

"Sheesh, don't look so surprised," Edward grumbled, but Roy could tell that, despite his scowl, he was secretly pleased. "All I did was break some icicles off the pipes and transmute the oxygen out of the water."

Roy couldn't keep from grinning like an idiot. He should have realized that Edward Elric would never let something as small as a Drachman prison get in his way.


	93. A Place to Return to

**Author's Note: I got enough questions about the previous chapter that I decided to continue this storyline. Hopefully this ties everything up in a satisfactory way. I've had a lot of fun coming up with Edward's subordinates, especially. I was hoping that they'd be different enough from Mustang's squad, but looking back on it I can actually see way too many similarities x.x Anyway, in summary, they are: Brodie, Burdon, Collins, Fisk, and Rushgard.**

**Timeline: A day after "Kiss"**

**Theme 93: A place to return to**

When Edward woke, he was immediately confused. The white, cracked ceiling stretching over his head told him he was still in the prison, but he was warm. He couldn't remember the last time he had truly been warm. And everything around him was soft. Groggily, he turned his head and blinked at the stove in the middle of the room, sending waves of heat to every corner of the room. He was covered in half a dozen military-issue blankets, and there was even a pillow under his head. Now that he had a chance to look at his surroundings more closely, he realized that he wasn't in his cell as he'd first thought. There were no bars on the window that looked out on the painfully blue sky, and the door was wide open.

As he sat up, he felt firm hands supporting his shoulders. At first he flinched, but then he looked up and relaxed. "Lieutenant Brodie?"

The normally grim-faced woman smiled and fussed with his pillows, seeming almost motherly. "Easy, sir. You've been out a whole day. It'll take a little while for you to get your strength back." She reached over to the stove, where a small pot sat steaming, and poured some soup into a cup, handing it over to him.

"So you've secured the prison?" Edward asked unnecessarily, sipping at the scalding soup and feeling its warmth slide all the way down to his stomach. "Where's Mustang?"

"Outside, reporting to Major General Armstrong."

Edward choked on a gulp of soup. "What's _she_ doing here?"

Brodie grinned and clapped him hard on the back until he stopped coughing. "You're a bit behind the times, sir. The war's over! We're all going home, just as soon as you're strong enough."

Edward stared at her, barely comprehending her words. "Home..." A place to return to, a haven safe from soldiers and guns and blood and death. The images of Alphonse and Winry appeared in his mind, and he realized with an uncomfortable squirm in his stomach that it had been far too long since he'd even thought of them. It had taken too much of his attention just to stay alive the past few weeks. But they were always there with him, hiding somewhere deep in his heart where no Drachman could touch them.

He wanted to go home, of course, but...what would they think when they saw him again? When they realized how much he'd changed? Would anything ever truly be the same again, or would he carry Drachma with him for the rest of his life?

The thudding of heavy footsteps broke into his thoughts, and he looked up from his mug of soup to see Rushgard blast his way through the open door, grinning ear to ear and yelling, "I know that voice!"

The other men hurried in as well, all of them smiling eagerly. "Glad to see you're awake, Colonel!" Burdon said, standing tall and skinny between Rushgard and Fisk, his white teeth shining brightly against his dark skin. Collins saluted, and the others immediately followed suit.

Edward grinned back and raised his cup of soup. "At ease, soldiers," he said. "I'd salute, but the first thing they did when they caught me was break my automail."

"How'd you survive the gas chamber, sir?" Collins asked eagerly, as the men all crowded around the bed.

"It was simple, really," Edward said, settling back against his pillows and enjoying all the happy attention directed at him. "I'd noticed they didn't take care of their pipes half as well as they do at Armstrong's place, so there were icicles hanging all over them. So when they took me to the gas chamber, I knew that I could break off a couple icicles and break down the oxygen in them. I also noticed that the vents that would release the gas were on the far wall, opposite the door, so if I stayed over by the door, I just might have a chance of survival."

"But how'd you do it?" Burdon asked, scratching his shaven head. "Don't you have to clap your hands to do alchemy?"

With a wink, Edward handed his cup back to Brodie and reached into the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. He pulled out a white glove that was familiar to all, stitched with red thread in the distinctive pattern of Mustang's circle. "I don't suppose any of you know Lieutenant Hawkeye, the Fuhrer's secretary? She used to work under Mustang, so when she heard we'd be in the same group, she gave me an extra pair of his gloves for safekeeping. Just in case he got his first pair wet or something, you know." He snickered to himself, remembering every time Mustang had been unable to be of any use because it was raining.

Holding up the glove, he said, "This circle doesn't make fire by itself, you know. It's actually for controlling the gases in the air. When you make a spark with the ignition cloth, you activate the circle to control the gases in the air around you in such a way that the spark will catch fire. So all I had to do was activate the circle, and extract the oxygen. I just controlled it so it would flow only into my lungs, and not let any of the poison gas in. So in a way, it was Mustang who-"

Suddenly he looked over Fisk's shoulder and saw Mustang standing in the doorway, staring at him. The expression on his face was closed, unreadable. Suddenly Edward felt like a twelve-year-old again, the time he had stolen one of Mustang's gloves and accidentally set fire to his desk. Mustang slowly walked up to the bed, and the other men parted to let him through.

Edward sheepishly handed the glove back to Mustang, who took it and stared at the red stitches. He ran his thumb over the salamander at the bottom of the circle. "Colonel Edward Elric..." he said slowly. Then he looked up, the familiar smirk curling his lips. "You are a genius."


	94. Let's Go

**Author's Note: When I got a request for this scenario, at first I completely drew a blank. It was going to be **_**happy**_** and **_**fluffy**_** and full of **_**comical family situations**_** D: Enough to tear my hair out. But then I got an idea for what it could culminate in, and how this scenario could force Ed and Mustang into a completely new situation...and I was sold. As soon as I can find a way to bring the parental element in, I feel much more confident about any scenario. I feel I should mention that this was inspired in part by Bookwrm389's wonderful, heartwarming fic "A Special Kind of Love."**

**Timeline: Midseries (after Hughes's death)**

**Theme 94: Let's go**

_for meladi1 - I managed to squeeze it in after all! :)_

Edward was still complaining as they walked up to the front door and Mustang rang the doorbell. "I still don't get why I have to do this," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets as they waited for someone to answer. "I don't know the first thing about taking care of kids!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Full Metal," Mustang said wearily. "We're already here, so there's no point in arguing anymore."

Edward turned to his last chance as he heard footsteps approaching inside the house. "Al, you remember what happened last time we were left in charge here!" he hissed. "We ran around like chickens with our heads cut off and had to watch Mrs. Hughes give birth right in front of us!"

Alphonse looked down at him with a supremely unhelpful and annoyingly patient look in his glowing red eyes. "Just relax, Brother, and it'll be fine. We've got Mustang with us this time."

"That's the problem," Edward growled to himself. He tried to look a little happier when Mrs. Hughes opened the door and beamed at them.

"Thank you so much for doing this," she said cheerfully. "Come in, come in!"

She stood back for them to enter, her elegant green dress sparkling in the hall light. Edward was so used to seeing her in her ordinary everyday clothes that he had to force himself not to stare. Almost before the door closed behind them, Elysia barreled around the corner from the living room and launched herself at Mustang's knees with a shriek. "Uncle Roy!"

Mustang, who'd been looking rather reluctant himself, knelt down to look Elysia in the eye. His whole face softened as he tweaked one of her pigtails. "Hey, cupcake," he said fondly. "How are you holding up?"

Apparently not understanding the question, Elysia said importantly, "I holded the mirror for Mama when she was fixing her hair."

Roy chuckled. "And I'm sure you did a very good job, because your mother looks like a fairy queen." He smiled at her over Elysia's head.

Flushed with pleasure, Mrs. Hughes said, "She's already had her dinner, but you can get some ice cream from the freezer later if you like. Her bedtime is at eight; once you've put her to bed, please make yourselves at home. I should be back around ten." She bent down to kiss Elysia goodbye, and then she was gone.

Elysia left them no time to feel awkward or apprehensive. "Come on!" She squealed, grabbing Mustang's thumb in one pudgy hand and Edward's pinky in the other. "Let's go play!"

Before Edward fully realized what was happening, they were re-enacting a highly imaginative version of Rapunzel, and Mustang (the wicked witch, a highly fitting role for him, Edward thought) was calling for him to let down his hair over the side of the bunk bed. Or at least, he was _trying_ to, but Edward could barely make out the words between his laughter. But since Elysia was the prince galloping around the countryside using Alphonse as her mighty metal steed, Edward felt he could take some artistic liberties with the story. Scowling down at his superior, he said, "No, I will _not _let down my hair. You made me wear a pink dress; I don't want you up here, you pervert!" He tugged at the lurid garment Elysia had given him.

"What's a pervert?" Elysia asked from the other side of the room, despite Alphonse's attempts to neigh loudly so she couldn't hear.

Edward flushed guiltily, sure that Hughes would burst from his grave and hunt them all down for polluting his child's mind. But to his surprise, Mustang took everything in stride. "It means a handsome, intelligent man with dashing good looks." He flashed a winning smile up at Edward, who scowled back.

Elysia stared at them for a moment, then said matter-of-factly, "But you're s'posed to be a _girl,_ Uncle Roy. Nobody ever heard of _man_ witches."

Before Mustang could think of another way out of this, Edward said loudly, "Well, I still won't let down my hair for you, 'cause you didn't say the magic words."

"I did too!" Mustang said indignantly. "I said, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!'"

Elysia chose that moment to charge and chase off the witch, who tripped and fell into the toy box and became smothered with stuffed animals. Edward snickered at his muffled moans of pain as he tried to extricate himself. Elysia cheered over their victory, then turned to the bunk bed and slid off Alphonse's shoulders. Brandishing her wooden sword and putting a hand over her heart very dramatically for a four-year-old, she said seriously, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair – _please!_"

Edward nodded solemnly down at her. "You have spoken the magic words." He dangled his braid over the side of the bed, and Elysia scrambled up the ladder until she could grab his hair. He grabbed her under the arms and hoisted her up onto the bed with him. "Oh, Sir Elysia!" he said, pitching his voice up and fluttering his eyelashes at her. "You saved me from that eeeeeevil witch!"

"Hey!" said Mustang, now standing and massaging his lower back. "I was doing it for your own good, young lady!"

Elysia giggled and announced, "And now that I've saved the day, we hafta kiss!"

"Wha-?"

Before he could protest, she leaned in and planted a loud, wet kiss on his cheek. "I love you, Big Brother," she whispered in his ear. "But my Papa said you aren't s'posed to kiss somebody on the lips till you're married."

The sudden mention of Hughes took Edward by surprise, and his throat closed against any words he might have said. He held Elysia close and kissed her chubby, smooth cheek.

She didn't seem to notice anything amiss, because she immediately broke apart and said, "Let's get ice cream now!" before scrambling down the ladder again. Edward glanced at Alphonse as he climbed down after her and pulled off his pink dress. The three of them were very quiet as they followed Elysia down to the kitchen.

Elysia chattered happily while Mustang scooped out the ice cream and put on a pot of coffee for himself and Edward. It seemed he knew his way around the Hugheses' kitchen fairly well, and Edward wondered whether Mustang would have consented to something like this if Hughes was still alive. He had a feeling that Mustang would have considered his own business too important to give it up for babysitting. Now, he probably considered it the least he could do to just give Mrs. Hughes a single night off to spend with her friends.

Elysia somehow managed to get her chocolate ice cream all over her face, so Mustang marched her off to the bathroom while the brothers went to her room to pick up all the scattered toys and find her some pajamas. Once she was dressed in pajamas printed with teddy bears and rubber duckies, and Edward had gingerly brushed her hair out of its pigtails, Elysia was yawning widely.

"Read me a bedtime story," she commanded, leading them into the living room and grabbing a huge book of fairy tales from the bookshelf. Alphonse offered to wash the dishes, and Edward poured the last of the coffee into mugs for himself and Mustang. He sat down next to Mustang, idly listening to him read the story of Hansel and Gretel. Despite the coffee, he found himself yawning as Mustang read the story in his smooth baritone voice. There was something hushed in his voice now, so unlike the way he barked commands at work. It was soothing to sit there in the warm living room and listen to him read the familiar story. Edward remembered his mother reading stories just like this when he and Alphonse had been Elysia's age.

By the time Mustang finished Hansel and Gretel, Elysia had climbed into his lap and sat with her head resting against his chest. When Mustang closed the book, she said sleepily, "You...smell like a Papa..."

"Oh? And what does a Papa smell like?"

"Like...that nice stuff he puts on his face after he shaves...and like coffee...even though I don't like coffee..." She yawned, closing her eyes. "And I can hear your heart beating...and I can feel your voice when you talk..." Suddenly she opened her eyes and placed one small hand against Edward's cheek. "See, Big Brother? You can hear it too."

She pushed Edward's head against Mustang's chest. He stiffened with surprise, but found himself trapped by Elysia's tiny hand clinging to his shirt. After a moment, he relaxed enough to realize that he _could_ hear Mustang's heart beating. It was a surprisingly soothing sound, sounding out the time behind his steady breathing.

"Tell me about my Papa," Elysia said softly, closing her eyes and snuggling closer to Mustang's warmth.

Edward could hear Mustang's heart pounding harder, and felt him take a deep breath before he began to speak. "He was the most annoying man I've ever met," he said harshly. "He'd always come into my office at the worst possible times, making horrible jokes and not letting me get any of my work done. And he'd show me hundreds and hundreds of pictures – of you, and your mother, and this house... It was like he had to share every minute of his boring life with me. Biggest pain in the neck."

Craning his neck around just enough to glare at Mustang for his insensitivity, Edward was surprised to see a tear slowly trickling down the side of his nose as he gazed at the top of Elysia's head.

"But...he was the best friend I've ever had. He was always there to help me when I needed it. Whenever I just needed someone to _talk_ to, just to clear my head and get my thoughts in order...he always seemed to show up at the right time. It was like he _knew._ And he never stopped helping me, even when I was ready to give up. In the depths of my despair...he was always there, ready to help me. He could cheer me up when nothing else could, and he never stopped helping me. He was...the kindest, bravest, most selfless man I've ever known."

Edward held still, feeling Mustang's voice vibrate against his ear, and he watched Elysia slip into slumber as they listened to the steady, soothing voice. He closed his eyes, thinking of the way Elysia had described what a father was supposed to be like. He breathed in, his nose pressed against Mustang's shirt, and he smelled aftershave...and coffee.


	95. Implicit Rules

**Author's Note: When someone asked me to do an FMA/Frozen crossover, I laughed out loud. I mean, what on **_**earth**_** do those two stories have in common? But then my school had a showing of Frozen, so I decided to go to it even though I'd seen it for the first time just recently. And while I was watching, the weirdest thing happened. It made **_**sense.**_** I could see all the connections, specifically to Mustang and Ed. I don't know if the popcorn went to my head and I'm still insane, but here is the result. Obviously, it's not going to be **_**exactly**_** like Frozen; I'm cutting out quite a bit of the complications of the plot (no Sven or Olaf, sorry! :P), but I think the main spirit of it is still here. (And no, this chapter does not include Mustang singing "Let It Go" - though that would be rather entertaining, and I encourage any of you with artistic abilities to try your hand at it XD If you want to know what I think he'd sound like if he **_**did**_** sing it, try searching for a Male Cover of it on YouTube.) In other news, I may never get "Let It Go" out of my head again, because I used it (in every variation of language and singer I could find) for mood music for this chapter -_- **

**Timeline: AU**

**Theme 95: Implicit rules**

_for writer's legend, whose idea was surprisingly apt!_

Once upon a time, a king and queen reigned over the peaceful and prosperous kingdom of Amestris. They had only one son, a tall dark-haired prince named Roy who showed much promise. When he had reached his fifteenth year, they welcomed into the royal castle Roy's two young cousins, Edward and Alphonse. They were the sons of the king's brother, the Baron of Hohenheim, who had perished with his wife in a dreadful fire that had consumed their home. The boys had been snatched from the flames by a brave servant, but now they had nowhere to go except to their only living relatives.

Despite their difference in age, Roy immediately became close to the small boys. When they cried for their parents and their home, lonely and frightened to be surrounded by so many unfamiliar people and places, Roy would dazzle them with his flame magic. He had been born with a talent for creating fire in his hands, and he used it now to make fantastic shapes in the air that made his young cousins laugh and clap their chubby hands.

Soon, the three became fast friends, and spent all their waking hours together. They roasted sausages and pieces of bread over fires of Roy's making, danced around flames shaped like animals, and made flickering shadows on the walls late at night, when they were all supposed to be asleep. Roy also taught them how to ride horses, how to shoot arrows, and how to swim. It became a common sight in the castle to see Prince Roy followed by two small, fair shadows skipping along behind him.

But these blissful days proved short-lived. Soon after the prince came of age, he and his two young cousins were playing with fire in a courtyard as they always did. But suddenly the flames grew taller and hotter, and Roy lost control of them. He tried to send the boys for help, but as he flung out his hand, fire burst from his fingertips and hit Edward, burning one side of his face severely.

Once the fires had been doused and Edward's wound had been seen to, the king and queen agreed that all word of Roy's magic ability must be suppressed. They consulted a witch, who cast a spell that erased all memories of this magic from everyone in the kingdom except for the king, the queen, and the prince himself. Edward and Alphonse would no longer remember the fun games they had played with Roy's fire; they would only remember that they had spent many long hours together.

Prince Roy vowed that he would never again use his magic, but it still threatened to burst forth when his emotions raged. He shut himself up in his room, locking the door and refusing to see anyone. He kept himself cold and aloof from everyone, especially those he loved the most. "I will never hurt them again," he said, desperately shrinking into himself and trying to cool the raging fire of fear and self-loathing.

Edward soon healed, though his face remained scarred for the rest of his life. The king and queen worried over this, but as Edward and Alphonse believed he had suffered it in the fire that had orphaned them, they hoped no evil would come of it. Edward and Alphonse were hurt and confused when Roy refused to see them anymore, no matter how many times they knocked on his door or asked for him to come play with them. Alphonse thought they must have done something to push him away, but Edward grew bitter and angry.

"Fine!" he finally yelled, kicking Roy's door till it shook in its frame. "I never wanted to play with you anyway!" He stormed off and never approached Roy's door again.

Only Alphonse could see how hurt Edward was under all that anger.

The years passed, and the brothers grew in strength and stature, gaining fame for themselves while Prince Roy faded into the shadows of the castle, forgotten in all but name. Edward and Alphonse soon learned to abide by the implicit rules of the castle, and stopped trying to get Roy to spend time with them. When Edward and Alphonse were in their teens, the king and queen went on a diplomatic visit to the neighboring kingdom of Xerxes, and never returned. They were waylaid on their journey by bandits, and though the army of Xerxes rushed to their aid, they could not undo what had already been done.

When word of their deaths reached Amestris and the time of mourning had passed, Prince Roy knew what must be done. He must take his rightful place as king...but that course of action was fraught with danger. He would have to come face-to-face with his fear.

On the fateful day of his coronation, Roy saw his cousins for the first time in years. Alphonse greeted him with joy, telling him how much they had missed his company. But Edward only scowled and refused to look at him. This pained Roy, but he knew it was only his own fault, so he said nothing. Keeping his tone formal and neutral, he complimented them on how much they had grown and all the accomplishments he'd heard about from his personal servant. Edward only muttered, "Of course I grew taller, idiot. Did you think I wouldn't grow at all since I was ten?"

The new king somehow made it through the ceremony, and the ball held afterward. He held himself closely in check, covering up his emotions as completely as his gloves hid his hands. But when Edward announced his desire to become a knight, Roy felt his ire begin to rise.

"I'm gonna become a knight, and you can't stop me," he said in an insolent tone.

"You will show more respect in the future when you talk to your _king,_" Roy said, gritting his teeth.

"Why?" Edward scoffed. "All you do is sit in your own room anyway. Some king. Anyone in Amestris could do whatever they want and you'd be none the wiser."

"That's not true," Roy said, his voice becoming heated. "Everything I've done has been for the greater good."

"Yeah, I'm sure hiding under your bed has done a lot of good," Edward sneered. "This whole world could go to hell and I don't think you'd even _care._"

"_Care?_" Roy yelled, forgetting for the moment that he was in a great hall surrounded by people. "How could I possibly _not_ care? You want to know why I've hidden in my room all these years – it was because I cared about _you!_ Because I didn't want to hurt you again!"

Too late, he realized that he was already out of control. Fire burst from his hands as he gestured, catching the tapestries and curtains on fire and sending the crowds of guests into a screaming confusion. Edward backed away from him, gaping with wide eyes as his fingers touched the scar marring the side of his face. He _knew._

While guests ran for the doors and servants futilely tried to douse the spreading flames, Roy turned on his heel and ran. He burst through a side door and ran away from the festivities, from the lights and confused voices, and headed for the stable. He saddled his horse, then galloped off into the gathering night, making for the distant mountains where he would never hurt anyone again.

By the time they had got the fire under control, people began to realize the newly crowned king had vanished. Some said this was only right, after this startling revelation of his unforeseen deadly power. Some even talked of crowning Edward as king in his place. But Edward only ordered his horse saddled and brought to him. Alphonse saw the determination in his eyes, and knew what he planned to do. "I'm coming with you."

Leaving the king's adviser, Bradley, in charge, Edward and Alphonse followed their cousin's trail to the mountains. As they rode, they realized that the dark stormclouds that had gathered in the night would not be blown away by the wind. No rain fell, but something like dark snow occasionally coasted down. With a shock, Alphonse realized it was ash falling from the sky, as though somewhere close by burned an enormous fire. The closer they came to the mountains, the darker the sky became and the more ash fell upon them.

Finally they tracked Roy down to a tall, dark mountain that belched smoke from its broken top. This seemed to be the source of all the smoke they had seen. With difficulty, they climbed the mountain to the top and looked down into a churning sea of fire. An impossible palace built of flame and cooled magma rose from the middle of this sea, with only a thin bridge of stone connecting it to the mountainside. Though the heat and the smoke made it hard to breathe, the brothers did not hesitate, but made their way carefully across to the palace.

In this fortress, they found Roy pacing the floor, cloaked in garments that seemed to be woven of fire itself. He looked up, astonished, when Edward and Alphonse approached him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, backing away with wide eyes. "Why did you come after me?"

"Because you're being stupid!" Edward cried, continuing to advance. "So you've got some dangerous magic – so what? We can work this out."

"'Work this out'? How on earth can I work this out? I burned down my own castle on the day of my coronation! What kind of king does that make me?"

"Well, technically you only burned a room or two," Edward pointed out.

"That's not helping, Brother," Alphonse interjected.

"My point is, you don't have to be afraid anymore."

Roy took an angry step forward. "I'm not afraid!" The flames that made the wall at his back blazed higher in response to his emotions.

"Yes, you are," Edward retorted. "That's why you suddenly stopped spending any time with us, isn't it? You were scared that something like _this_ would happen again." He jabbed a finger at the scar marring the side of his face.

Roy drew back as if Edward had slapped him. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you _are_ hurting us." Edward stared earnestly into the dark eyes he still knew so well. "For once, stop hiding behind that door. Just let us in, and you'll find that you don't have anything to be afraid of."

"I told you, I'm not afraid!" The floor shook beneath them, as though even the mountain itself echoed his voice.

"Look," Alphonse said, holding his hands out to both of them as if trying to keep them apart. "This doesn't really matter one way or another. Please just come back with us, Roy. Your kingdom needs you. _We_ need you. We can help you control your magic, and everything will be like it used to be."

This time, Roy drew back so far his cloak seemed to meld with the wall. "Nothing will be the same. Not after what I did. Everyone will look at me, and they'll _know."_

"Know what?" Edward demanded hotly. "Know that you did _this?_" He pointed at his scar again. "That was an _accident,_ Roy!"

"And if I go back, it will happen again!" Roy gripped his head in both hands. "If I go back, they'll all see that I'm a monster! I can't do that!"

"Yes you can!" Edward shouted over him. "I know you can!"

"No, I _can't!_" And at the height of his fear and anger, as he swiped his arm through the air, a ball of fire left his fingers and hit Edward squarely in the chest.

Roy drew back in horror as Alphonse rushed to his brother's aid. Rather than bursting into flames, Edward lay still and seemingly uninjured, except for the unhealthy glow in his cheeks. Alphonse looked at him anxiously, then wiped his sweaty brow. "He's burning up!" he said, looking up at Roy helplessly.

"No..." Slowly, Roy shook his head, staring at Edward. "Not again..." His eyes snapped to Alphonse. "Take him away from here! Hurry! Get him some help! I...I can't..."

Though Alphonse hated to leave Roy in such a state, he knew Edward desperately needed help. So he heaved his brother onto his shoulder, and carried him to their horses. After tying Edward into his saddle, he led his brother's horse at the fastest pace he dared, heading back down the mountain to Amestris.

By the time they reached the castle again, Edward's fever burned hotter than ever. They hurried him to his bed and tried every remedy they knew, but to no avail. His condition only worsened through the next day. Finally Alphonse consulted Bradley and said, "There's only one option left for us. Go and convince Roy to come back. Maybe he can undo this."

Alphonse stayed by Edward's side all through the next day, never moving from his room. He tried to comfort Edward every way he knew how, but Edward only tossed and turned, muttering delirious phrases that always seemed to be urging Roy not to be afraid. Alphonse knew, with a cold weight settling in his stomach, that Edward would probably never wake.

When at last Bradley brought Roy to the castle and up to Edward's room, Alphonse was surprised to see Roy in chains. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, rising from his chair.

"He resisted, killing several of our men," Bradley explained, tugging on the chain to make Roy stumble. "He should be punished – _severely._"

"There's time for that later," Alphonse said impatiently, turning to the prisoner. "Roy, please – you have to help him."

Roy looked down at Edward's restless form, then closed his eyes in defeat. "I can't. I don't know _how._ All I know is destruction."

"Surely there must be someone in the kingdom who knows how to reverse such a curse," Alphonse said desperately. "We can't just stand here and watch my brother die!"

Roy suddenly looked up, a faint light of hope in his eyes. "Wait. There was a witch – the one who erased all memories of my magic. Maybe..."

That was all Alphonse needed. He immediately ran out the door to find the witch. Roy watched Edward shift in his sleep, muttering his name as though naming his only hope. In despair, Roy covered his face with his hands. "I should have known these powers were a curse."

"Indeed," Bradley said coolly behind him. "And there is only one way of dealing with someone who is cursed."

Roy turned in surprise to see his own adviser drawing his sword. Bradley raised the blade, aiming straight for the heart, and Roy stood straight, prepared for his fate. After all, it was what he deserved...

Suddenly, Edward's eyes snapped open, and they blazed with fire. He launched out of the bed, throwing himself between Roy and the blade, and his entire body burst into flame. He stood before his cousin, arms outstretched, burning like a newly-born star. Bradley screamed as the flames licked up his arm and spread to the rest of his body. Strangely, as the flames passed to Bradley, they left Edward's body. As Bradley writhed around on the floor, Edward collapsed against Roy, who held him awkwardly despite his chains.

Once the flames had died away, nothing remained of Bradley but a small pile of ashes. Roy slid to the floor, cradling Edward in his arms and listening to Edward's deep, easy breathing.

Alphonse burst into the room, leading the witch at a dead run, and skidded to a halt when he saw what had happened. Hardly daring to believe his eyes, Alphonse felt his brother's forehead and saw that the fever had left him. "What happened?" he asked breathlessly. "How did you break the curse?"

"True love," said the witch, speaking up for the first time. "It had to have been true love. That's the only cure for such a curse. It's the only thing that can cut through a fear that runs so deep."

"True love..." Roy murmured, chuckling as he looked down at his cousin. "That's not very manly, is it?"

"Shut up," Edward grumbled, blinking his eyes open. "You were the one who was being a scaredy-cat about everything."

Alphonse chuckled as he unlocked the chains from around Roy's wrists. "Unfortunately, it looks like everything's back to normal."


	96. Secret

**Author's Note: I've had this little idea bouncing around in my head for a long time. I tried several times to fit it in somewhere, but it's never worked until I hit this prompt. I'm still not sure it completely works, but I hope you find it at least a little interesting.**

**Timeline: Postseries (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 96: Secret**

Not many people knew that Edward had survived being impaled on a metal beam that had speared right through his side. Even fewer knew that he had used his own life force as a miniature Philosopher's Stone to knit tissue back together until his body could recover on its own, shaving a few years off his life. But Edward had never told anyone that he had seen the Truth when he clapped his hands. That Truth had shaken its head at this tiny human's recklessness, and informed him calmly of the day and hour on which his heart would finally give out.

Edward could feel the day drawing nearer, could almost sense his skin drawing tight around him, his heart pounding a little harder with the extra effort required to keep him alive. He knew what he had to do before he died, so when the day was still two years away, he began his last journey.

It was easiest to tell his family, of course. He said it to his brother, his wife, and his children on the cold, misty morning he set out on his own. They didn't understand yet, and probably wouldn't understand until he returned. Alphonse was smart enough he would probably figure it out before too long, and Winry would coax it out of him eventually. He would set aside all the time left to him to spend with his family, but first things first.

He started with the ones who were the farthest away. He traveled all the way to Xing, and told Emperor Ling, who threw a gigantic feast in his honor. The man smiled and joked just like old times, but there was sadness in his eyes. He told Mei Chang, who burst into tears mimicked by her tiny panda.

Next, Edward traveled to the West, and told all the friends he had met there in his travels. Some of them were confused, some understood, some tried to persuade him to stay. But he knew he had to continue. He went north next, paying a visit to the Briggs fortress. Olivier Armstrong was a general now, but still maintained her post in Briggs. The Fuhrer had known she wouldn't be contented anywhere else. Edward told those of his friends who still lived, and thought of Buccaneer as he paced the halls. He told General Armstrong, who promptly threw him out of the fortress and sent him packing like a rabbit running from a bear. But as he left, Edward smirked over his shoulder at the enormous fortress. She would understand eventually.

Bypassing Central, Edward moved south. He went to Ishbal, where he finally managed to track down Scar, who now went by a different name. Miles was with him, and merely gazed solemnly down at him when Edward told him. When he told Scar, the old man bowed low, his forehead brushing the carpet he knelt on, and murmured a blessing over him.

It was easy to tell the people he knew in Dublith. Mason looked awkward and didn't know what to say, Sig glowered and patted him roughly on the head as though trying to hammer him into the ground, but Edward knew he was just trying to hold back his tears. Izumi gathered him into her arms and held him close for so long he lost track of the time. He held her as tightly as he could, burying his face in her shoulder and hating that he would take another one of her children from her.

Finally he turned towards Central, to tell all of his military friends. Naturally, Armstrong cried the hardest, practically drowning Edward in tears and sparkling effluence, then crushing him against his chiseled chest till Edward was sure every bone in his body had broken. Edward told Gracia, who smiled and hugged him, and Elysia, who didn't understand at all and flushed bright red. He went to Hughes's grave and told him, though nothing but the wind responded.

Falman was speechless when Edward told him, and Havoc spluttered and stammered so hard his cigarette went out. Fury blushed harder than Elysia, and Breda merely grunted, not seeming to know what to say, though he seemed to understand better than any of the others. Hawkeye was completely taken aback when he told her, but put her hand on his shoulder and gave him one of her rare smiles.

Edward realized he was leaving Mustang for last. It had been easy as breathing to tell some people, and unbearably awkward telling others, but he'd still managed to tell everyone with a straight face and not too much beating around the bush. He'd done it because he knew they needed to know, knew it would bring them comfort once he was gone. _At least he told me,_ they would think once they heard the news that he'd died. _At least he cared about me enough for that._

Why was it so hard to tell Mustang? Maybe it was because he'd never told him anything like this before. But there were others who'd never heard him say something like this, and it wasn't anywhere near as hard. It wasn't like it was a secret or anything. Maybe it was just that he knew how much it would hurt Mustang once he was gone. He would carry this sorrow for the rest of his life...but at least Edward could give him this comfort before he died. He would just have to suck it up and tell him.

So Edward drew a deep breath, let himself into the Fuhrer's office, and walked up to the desk where Mustang sat. He looked deep into Mustang's dark eyes, willing him to understand, and said, "I love you."

Mustang's eyebrows rose almost into his hair, and for a moment Edward thought he was going to laugh right in his face, ignoring just how hard it was to get those three stupid words out. Edward gritted his teeth, steeling himself for the rejection and mockery he'd received from this man over and over.

But Mustang just looked up at him with a keen look in his eyes and a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth. And he said, "I love you too."


	97. Don't Forget

**Author's Note: I really struggled to work this one in. I never had any intentions of writing anything more in the storyline where Mustang gives up his hand to save Ed's life, but I had no idea what to do with this chapter, so I decided it would be a good opportunity to work in the request. Eventually I figured out a connection I could draw on, but it was still hard to articulate. This is really short, but hopefully satisfactory.**

**Timeline: Sometime after "Share"**

**Theme 97: "Don't forget"**

_for Dashita Tichou_

Edward was not a forgetful person. He actually had an impressive memory, able to hold dozens of complex equations and diagrams in his head at once even when he'd only seen them once. He was a genius, after all, and his memory served him well. Tiny details he noticed were recorded carefully in his brain, brought back to the surface where they became the sudden bursts of insight so many admired him for.

But even so, he made little reminders for himself, for the things that were most important. As if he could forget.

Carved into the inside of his watch was the rough message _Don't Forget 3 Oct. 11,_ a stark reminder of the day he'd left his past behind. But because he told himself not to forget, he could never truly leave it behind with the burning embers of his house. So he always remembered the guilt of how horribly he had failed, the shame of everything he'd lost. No matter how many trials he survived, no matter how much pain he suffered, he had to keep reminding himself that it would never be enough to make up for what he'd done.

Then there was the scar on his left arm, the thin white line running smooth and straight across his wrist, barely discernible against his skin. It was a sign of his promise to himself to never go that far again, to never lose control so completely. With it, he reminded himself how much his actions could hurt the ones he loved the most. It was another badge of shame – shame that both Alphonse and Winry had witnessed, and forgiven him for even though he still had trouble forgiving himself. He had never turned his own blade upon himself again after that, but the scar was a constant reminder of how easily he could let everyone down.

Most obvious and most cutting, however, was the reminder on Mustang's body. Every time he looked at Mustang, every time the man gestured or pointed, Edward felt a twinge in his gut as he remembered who was responsible. Mustang's right arm ended in a stump, as ugly and odd-looking as Edward's own stumps. And even though he had never blamed Edward for what had happened, Edward couldn't shake the heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders. It was because of _him_ that Mustang had been forced to give up his right hand. It was all to save Edward's life, even though Mustang had known he was only playing into their enemies' hands.

But even though it was another reminder of his guilt, sometimes Edward looked at that twisted stump and remembered something else. He remembered the look in Mustang's eyes as he stared at Edward bleeding out on the floor. The terror receded from those black eyes as he realized what he needed to do, and somehow his expression softened and hardened at the same time. It hardened with determination, but softened with affection. Edward could clearly read his face, as though he were saying, "Yes, you are worth this to me."

And sometimes, when Edward looked at Mustang's arm, the weight of guilt lifted from his shoulders.


	98. I'm Home

**Author's Note: I've wanted to do this crossover for a long time. It's always seemed like a no-brainer to me – maybe because Mal, Zoe, and Wash have a relationship astonishingly similar to Mustang, Hawkeye, and Hughes, with the romance switched. It's also easy to see the similarities between the Tam siblings and the Elric brothers. My only struggle with this chapter was trying not to be too influenced by Bookwrm389's awesome fic **_**Fullmetal Firefly: Serenity,**_** which covers the same episode. I really think she did a better job of adapting this episode, but I wanted to try my hand at it all the same. Other than the non-negotiables, I tried to assign the characters differently. Also note that I condensed and simplified the episode considerably so it wouldn't be unbearably long. For instance, I've taken out all the Reaver stuff. Reavers **_**do**_** exist in this version, but I just didn't have time to deal with them along with everything else. Also, I think instead of the speech being peppered with Chinese words and phrases, in this crossover it should be peppered with Japanese...but I don't know **_**near**_** enough Japanese to feel comfortable doing that much. The only thing I kept in was having Al actually use **_**Nii-san**_** rather than **_**Brother.**_** Probably the only time I'll ever do that, because it's usually a pet peeve of mine. I hope you enjoy reading this as much I enjoyed writing it! It should be understandable even if you're not familiar with Firefly.**

**Timeline: AU**

**Theme 98: "I'm home"**

_for feathersnow, fellow Firefly fanatic_

"Get these goods stowed!" Captain Roy Mustang barked, striding easily through the bustle in the hold of his ship. "We don't need civilians tripping over Alliance-printed goods on the way."

Fury looked up from the crate he was heaving over to the hidden hatch underneath the stairs. "We're picking up passengers on Persephone?" he panted, wiping his brow on his sleeve.

Havoc also glanced up as he shoved his crate deep into the hatch. "What for?" he groused. "They'll just get in the way, and they're liable to get us in buckets of trouble."

"I think it's shiny!" Fury said brightly as Havoc pushed the next crate in. "It'll be nice to see some new faces...hear some new stories..."

"You mean our ugly mugs ain't good enough for you, Fury?" Breda chortled, playfully knocking into his shoulder as he helped Fury push his crate in beside the others.

"Well, _I _think it's a risk we can't afford to take," Hawkeye said as she marched down the stairs. She frowned as the men slid the cover back over the hidden hatch.

"We need the extra money," Roy pointed out. "If this deal doesn't go through, we won't even be able to _fly,_ let alone keep her maintained."

"The compression coil's near strapped," Fury piped up at the perfect moment. "If I can't get a new one soon, we're dead in the water."

"But if any of the passengers get suspicious-"

Roy talked over her. "If they get suspicious, shoot 'em."

Hawkeye gave him an exasperated look, then said, "Hughes wants you in the bridge."

Roy nodded, ascending the stairs to the upper level of the ship. He could hear the others continuing their discussion of this novelty. It wasn't every day they had boarders. Serenity wasn't exactly a luxury cruise ship. He strode down the hallway and stepped over the doorframe into the bridge. "What is it, Hughes?"

"Whaddya think, Roy?" Hughes asked, swiveling around in his chair with a serious expression. "The lavender or the mauve?"

Roy blinked. His pilot was holding up a plastic doll with stylized blonde hair and a permanent false grin. In his other hand, he held two dresses up to compare how they looked against her complexion and impossibly red lips.

Taking a deep breath, Roy tried not to yell at him. He'd already shouted at him twice today; he knew his fuse was running short, but there was no point in taking his stress out on his crew. He pinched the bridge of his nose so he wouldn't have to look at that doll's stupid grin anymore. "Hughes...the only color I want to see is the golden welcome sign of Persephone harbor."

"All right, all right," Hughes said defensively, picking the dress out himself and pulling it over the doll's head. "Aren't we touchy today. Miss Boo-Boo just wanted to ask if we're getting paid this time. She needs new shoes."

Roy ground his teeth together, reminding himself that – for some reason – Hughes was his best friend and it would _not_ be kind to grab that doll and rip its stupid head off. It was the only thing the poor man had left of the daughter he'd doted on, other than the pictures he'd pasted over every unused inch of the bridge. Pictures of a much happier man spending a few blissful years with his wife and daughter before they were lost in the war.

"We're getting paid," Roy said shortly, leaving the bridge before he could say something hurtful. "No worries – just dropping the cargo off and getting out again."

* * *

Of course, nothing ever went that easily for the crew of Serenity. Roy marched back to their ship through the bustling crowds of the Persephone spaceport, ignoring the jostling of the crowd and the jumble of a dozen different languages clamoring on every side.

"What're we gonna do, Boss?" Havoc muttered on his left flank, lighting his third cigarette. "If even Yoki won't take the goods..."

"Dump 'em," Hawkeye said shortly on his other side. "We should never have taken this job in the first place. Knew it would lead to trouble."

"We _can't_ dump 'em," Roy snapped. "There's a high chance Yoki told the feds already." He glanced sidelong at a group of three soldiers wearing the Alliance uniform leaning against a nearby shack and watching the crowd with beady eyes. "We need to get off this rock and get rid of the goods before anyone starts sniffing around."

"But who can we sell 'em to?" Havoc hissed, leaning in closer so no one else could hear. "There's precious few places we can take printed goods."

"There's always Whitefall," Roy mused.

"Sir, we can't go to Whitefall!" Hawkeye cried, breaking rank just long enough to step forward and stare at his face incredulously.

"Whyever not?"

Hawkeye stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop and crossing her arms. "As I recall, sir, the last time we set foot on Whitefall you nearly had your _face_ blown off."

"Yes, and you knocked me flat on my back and saved my life, I know," Roy finished impatiently. He wished she didn't have to point this out every time the topic arose. "But that's all air through the engines, Hawkeye." Pushing past her, he waved his hand airily. "He's the mayor or governor or something now; he's all respectable and proper, and _I'm_ not holding any grudges."

"But sir," Hawkeye pressed, with the air of someone trying to reason with a madman, "no amount of time can change what happened in the _war._"

And no amount of time could change the pang he felt when he thought of it. But he just said, as they neared Serenity again, "Scar knows now that I don't work for the Alliance anymore. Besides, Whitefall is a _desert moon._ Chances are a hundred to one it won't rain this time."

Hawkeye looked like she was about to find another problem with this whole scheme, but her mouth snapped shut as they walked up the ramp into Serenity's welcome shade. A stranger stood in the doorway, watching Hughes drive the forklift into the ship, carrying a large crate.

Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow at the passenger. He looked young – _really _young, hardly even a teenager, and so short it was almost comical. But he carried himself like he owned the world and expected everyone to go bowing and scraping about his bidding. Even his clothes screamed that he was a spoiled brat, well-cut from expensive black cloth, complete with sleek white gloves. His blonde hair was long and glossy, tied into a braid that hung halfway down his back. A true-blue city slicker. The only unorthodox thing about him was a garish red coat that hung to his knees.

Then the boy turned to yell at Hughes to be careful with his crate as he set it down out of the way, and Roy spotted something that turned his confusion into alarm. Stitched on the back of his coat, just below the end of his braid and the red hood, was a black sigil that Roy knew all too well.

The serpent cross.

Narrowing his eyes, Roy approached the boy, who watched Hughes with a frown as he walked away. "Welcome aboard. I'm the captain of this ship, Roy Mustang." He held out a hand.

The boy hesitated for a moment, sizing him up warily. "Edward. You can call me Ed." Reluctantly, he shook Roy's hand, and Roy felt the strength of his grip with surprise. Automail? "How long before we leave?" Edward asked impatiently.

"Soon as we get everything stowed..." Roy trailed off, noticing Fury grinning at him next to the other two passengers, a man and a woman...

"Falman?" Roy gasped, abandoning Edward and crossing the hold in two strides. "Is that really Vato Falman?"

He looked as though he'd lost some weight, and his hair was almost completely grey now, but there was no mistaking that tall, narrow-eyed man. Beaming, Falman snapped to attention and saluted him just like the old days. "Hello, sir! It's a pleasure to see you again! And captain of an 03-K64-Firefly, no less! Times have changed."

"We bumped into each other earlier!" Fury looked overjoyed, his eyes huge behind his large glasses. "He said he was looking for work, so I made him come with us to try his luck on Boros!"

"Col- er, Captain, allow me to introduce my companion," Falman said, gesturing to the shorter woman beside him. She wore her black hair in a sensible military cut, and her handshake was unyielding, but her smile was gentle and the mole beside her mouth lent her an air of sophistication. "Maria Ross worked under Major Armstrong until...well, you know."

Roy nodded. Armstrong had deserted when there was still some honor in doing so, unlike Mustang who had waited until the war was actually over. He smiled at Ross. "Anyone under Major Armstrong's command is more than welcome on my ship. Are you looking for work as well?"

"Yes, sir," Ross said promptly. "Any place is as good as the next, so when I met Falman in Persephone, I thought I'd join him. Strength in numbers, after all."

"Or more competition," Roy added, to a general laugh all around.

As everyone trooped upstairs to show the passengers their quarters, Roy hung back to close the door and tell Hughes over the intercom that they were ready to leave. As he headed towards the stairs, he noticed Edward dawdling around his big crate. All of his senses went on red alert again.

"I'll show you to your room now," he said forcefully, walking over to the boy. "For your own safety, I can't allow passengers to return to the hold unescorted. If you need to retrieve your belongings, just ask one of the crew and we'll be happy to assist."

There was nothing Edward could do but follow him up the stairs. After a moment or two, he spoke up. "You were in the war?"

Roy's suspicion only rose further. "Yes," he said shortly. "Ishbal."

Edward cast his eyes up and down Roy's figure, then around the grungy interior of the ship. "You were with the Resistance?"

Roy's hackles rose at the danger in his words, and the disdain. "I was a colonel in the Union of Allied Planets Navy."

He was too angry and frightened to realize at first that Edward had come to a halt behind him.

* * *

When trouble came, it came hard and fast. After a pleasant dinner in which they relived old times with Falman and laughed over tales of Armstrong that Ross could bring them, Roy was washing up in his bunk when he got the call from Hughes. "Roy...you're not gonna like this."

With a feeling of dread, Roy scurried up his ladder, raced down the hallway, and took the stairs to the bridge at a bound. Before he even had time to ask what the matter was, Hughes whirled around in his chair. There was no trace of mirth in his sharp green eyes, no sense of fun and games. "We're humped," he said bleakly.

Roy leaned over the console even as Hughes continued, "I don't know who did it, but someone on this ship hailed the Alliance."

"They know our position?" Roy snapped.

"I mean...I cut the message pretty quick but...looks like it." Hughes pushed his glasses up his nose as he stared despairingly at the various gauges and knobs he had control over. "They'll be here any minute, Roy."

With a curse, Roy hurtled out of the bridge and pounded down the stairs to where he knew he could find the culprit. Sure enough, he found a small form in a red coat bent over the crate stored in the hold. Before Edward had time to do more than whirl around in surprise, Roy grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him back against his stupid crate. "What did you tell them?" he roared.

Edward coughed and wheezed, the breath knocked out of him. "Tell who?!" he demanded as soon as he could.

"I have neither the time nor the patience for your games, little man."

Before he realized what was happening, the boy exploded in his arms. "WHO'RE YOU CALLING A TINY LITTLE PIPSQUEAK WHO'S SO MINISCULE HE COULD FIT INTO YOUR TINY SWEATY PORES, YOU SPACE-WALKING BARBARIAN FREAK?!"

Roy backed away from Edward's flailing limbs, pulling his gun out of his holster and cocking it. The sound seemed to jolt Edward out of his rage, and he slowly raised his arms while his eyes darted in every direction for a way out. But he couldn't exactly go anywhere with a gun pointed directly between his eyes. "How much did you tell them?" Roy repeated.

"Tell _who?_"

"Don't even start," Roy snapped. "I saw through you from the very beginning, so there's no use hiding now. Did you think you could hide with that symbol pasted all across your back?"

Edward paled, and he tried to take a step back, but he was already pressed up against his crate. He stared hopelessly up at Roy, then seemed to wilt, hanging his head though he kept his hands up. "All right, you got me. I'm-"

"Under arrest," a female voice finished for him.

Roy looked over in astonishment to see Maria Ross standing a short distance away, pointing a pistol of her own at Edward. "The captain is right, Edward Elric. If you don't want people to know that you're a State Alchemist, I suggest you make more effort to hide it." When her eyes slid over to Roy, he was surprised to see how cold and merciless they were in comparison to their warmth earlier. "Drop the gun, Captain Mustang. You're on very thin ice yourself."

Mind racing, Roy did as he was told. Did she know about the crates of stolen goods? Had they said anything in their conversations that could possibly incriminate them, with what Ross knew of him from Ishbal?

"No." Edward was slowly backing away, clinging to his crate as though it was his anchor in the black abyss of space. "No, I'm not going back there! There's no way!"

"You belong to the Alliance," Ross said coldly. "You sold your soul when you signed that paper. You are nothing but a dog of the military."

"No!" Edward yelled, throwing himself in front of the crate like a human shield. "No, you can't have him! I sold my soul to get him back, and I won't let you take him from me again!" Inexplicably, he clapped his hands...

"Hey, what's all the-"

_Bang._

Before anyone could understand what was happening, Fury lay on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, his glasses askew and the rest of the crew staring. Even Ross looked surprised, holding the smoking gun in trembling hands. Havoc took this opportunity to knock her viciously over the head with his rifle, sending her to the floor as well. He then trained his gun on Edward while everyone else crowded around Fury.

"Fury!" Roy yelled, tapping the mechanic's face urgently. "Kain Fury, report!"

His eyes rolled around, unfocused, his face glistening with sweat. "'S all...shiny, cap'n... Stars...goin' round 'n round... 'M I in space?"

Breda frantically pressed his apron against the hole in Fury's stomach that leaked more blood by the second. "He's going into shock," Edward called over the sound of Fury moaning at the pressure on his wound.

"Yes, _thank_ you for your input," Roy snapped over his shoulder, squeezing Fury's hand as hard as he could. "Stay with us, Fury! Don't you _dare_ die on me, understand? That's an order!"

"Aye...yai...Colonel..." His eyes slid closed.

Hawkeye's hand came out of nowhere, slapping Fury across the cheek and making his eyes fly open. But they could all see they were losing him fast.

"I can help," Edward said, inching forward despite Havoc, "if you promise not to turn me in to the feds."

Roy glared at him. "You're still trying to bargain with me while a man lies dying at your feet? What could you even do? You're an alchemist, not a doctor!"

"I have experience with human transmutation!"

The shouted declaration stunned everyone to silence, even those trying to help Fury. The shock wasn't so much a result of human transmutation being illegal – after all, their merry band of smugglers were no strangers to crime – but this was the first any of them had ever heard of someone _surviving_ human transmutation. It was against the law for a reason. But if he _had_ survived...

"Hughes!" Roy yelled at the intercom. "Turn this ship around and run like the Reavers are on your tail!"

"Right away, sir!" Hughes replied cheerfully.

Roy turned his attention to the boy. "Help him. _Now._"

Havoc put his gun up, and Edward rushed forward. The others shifted aside to give him room, and for a moment all he did was pull the makeshift bandage aside and examine the bullet hole. "Lucky for you, it went right through," he finally said, touching Fury's back and bringing away crimson-stained fingers. "'Cause I have no idea how to remove a bullet."

With no further ado, Edward straightened up, clapped his hands once, and then pressed his palms against the wound. To Roy's astonishment, even though he hadn't drawn so much as a single squiggle on or around Fury's body, the blue light of a transmutation sprang up around him. The others drew back nervously, but Roy remained transfixed at Fury's side. He watched as the skin knitted back together as seamlessly as if it had never been broken, Edward staring intently at his work as though he could see right through to every tissue he was repairing.

Finally, the light died away and Edward leaned back, looking exhausted. "There," he breathed. "He's lost a lot of blood, and the tissues will probably still be weak for a while until his body can strengthen them naturally...but the bleeding's stopped. You should take him to the infirmary now."

Roy nodded to the others; Falman, Havoc, and Breda carefully lifted the unconscious Fury and gingerly carried him away. Edward remained wearily on the ground, staring at the puddle of blood in front of him, while Roy and Hawkeye rose again. Hawkeye started to follow the others, but Roy said, "Now I think we should find out what you're trying so hard to hide from the Alliance."

Edward's head suddenly snapped up. "What? No!"

But it was too late. Roy was already lifting the lid off the crate, squinting through the steam to see the boy's valuable treasure...

"What?"

Edward raced over to the crate, checking a small control panel on the side. "You idiot! I told you not to mess with it! He wasn't supposed to wake until we were on Boros, and now his heart rate will be all skewed and he'll probably be all sick to his stomach..."

Hawkeye leaned over to see what Roy was staring at so blankly, and her eyebrows shot into her hair. "A boy?"

"What...What is the meaning of-"

The skinny, naked teenage boy jolted upright from the middle of the crate, where he'd been curled up in the fetal position. He gave a loud, shuddering gasp, staring around wildly through strings of wet, blonde hair that fell to his waist. He looked up at Roy's astonished face, then screamed and scrambled clumsily out of the crate.

Edward was at his side in an instant, kneeling down next to him on the floor, brushing his hair out of his eyes, looking intently into his face. "Shhh, Al, it's me. It's me. You're okay now, you're safe." He pulled the red coat from his shoulders and wrapped it around the naked boy's shivering body.

The boy raised a trembling hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against Edward's cheek. He whispered, "_Nii-san?_"

* * *

Edward stood, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, while everyone else sat or stood in a semi-circle around him in the kitchen. Fury and the boy from the crate were sleeping in the infirmary, both of them worn out from the excitement of the day. Ross lay gagged and bound in the hold, until they could decide what to do with her.

"Look," Edward began, shuffling his feet and refusing to look at any of them. "I'm a child prodigy, okay?"

Roy leaned back and crossed his legs. "This is a promising beginning."

Edward glared daggers at him, but kept going. "All I mean is, I was ready for university-level education when I was ten, and that's not counting the alchemy. I've been studying alchemy since I was four. I'm not trying to brag. I just want you to realize what I mean when I say that I've never beat my little brother in any competition."

He looked around awkwardly, but no one said anything or gave him any opportunity to weasel out of this explanation, so he continued. "My father's never been in the picture, so it was just my mom who raised us. So when she died..." He closed his eyes, and Roy was struck by the ancient weariness in the expression, so incongruous with his young body. "I was nine, and Alphonse was eight. We didn't think there was any way we could make it on our own, so...we decided to bring her back."

"Human transmutation," Roy breathed.

Everyone else looked at him, but Edward just nodded. "We didn't think there was any way we could fail. We were geniuses, after all. So we blundered on ahead, and didn't pay attention to any of the warnings, and performed human transmutation." He looked up, suddenly glaring. "And if any of you ever thinks about trying to bring someone back to life, just remember that you have to pay the _price._" He pulled off his black shirt, revealing a right arm made entirely of metal, running right up to the shoulder. Then he dropped to one knee and jerked up one leg of his pants, revealing a metal leg up past his knee. Murmurs ran around the room; automail was not an uncommon sight, but on someone so young...

With a sigh, Edward straightened and pulled his shirt on again. "When the Alliance showed up at our house after the transmutation, I was sure they were going to throw us in jail. Instead...they separated us. They said we had potential, and they were going to help us reach it." He looked up, almost pleadingly, at Roy – as if hoping to meet his approval. "We had to do what they said. We were afraid that if we refused, they'd arrest us or worse.

"So I went to the military academy and studied to become a State Alchemist. And Al... Well, they _said_ he was going to a special academy, but I found out later it was more like an experimental facility. He was allowed to write to me, but they censored his letters, so I never learned anything important. At least, not until he finally managed to send me one in a secret code. I won't bore you with the details, but it was an alchemic code that we'd worked out together, one that only we would understand. The only thing the message said was...'They're hurting us. Please get me out.'" He looked up, his eyes burning like the engine of a Firefly. "So I did."

A cigarette drooped, unlit and forgotten, from Havoc's lips as he asked, "How'd you manage _that?_"

Edward shrugged, looking weary again. "Lots of luck. And skill. And money. I paid every penny my mother saved up, and every penny I could squeeze out of the military without raising suspicion, and bribed the right people so I could get in. After that, it was up to me to find Al and get him out. I managed to sneak him out in a cryo container disguised as a crate of blood transfusions, and then stowed away on the first big ship I could find. It landed in Persephone, and I was planning to get as far away from the Center as I could so we'd be safe while I figure out what's wrong with Al." He ran a hand through his hair and said thickly, "I don't know what's wrong with him, because I don't know what they _did_ to him. But he's...he's not like he was before."

Everyone sat in silence for a few moments, until Hughes broke the tension with a low whistle. "That's quite the story, kid."

"Yes," Roy mused slowly. "One would almost say..._unbelievable._" Edward's head snapped up indignantly, but Roy held up a hand. "It doesn't matter to me whether you're partially lying or telling me the whole truth. What I _do_ know for certain is that you're brothers. Like enough to be twins. And you're in trouble with the Alliance, and from my long experience with them, they'll show no mercy if they catch you."

He stood and looked down at the boy, who was now frowning uncertainly up at him. "I'm a fair man, Edward Elric," he said. "You responded quickly and skillfully to Fury's needs. I won't put my crew in undue danger just for a couple of high-profile fugitives, but what I _will_ do is see you safely to Boros as you commissioned me to do. We'll stop at Whitefall, do our business, and then be on our way. With any luck, we've lost the Alliance for now, but there's no guarantees. If they corner us on Whitefall, I'm going to have to hand you over to the feds to save my crew. Is that understood?"

Edward nodded at his feet. "Only fair," he mumbled.

Roy caught Hawkeye's disapproving look and grimaced to himself. He knew he was being cold-hearted, abandoning these children to a Verse they were horribly unprepared for, but he didn't know what else to do. His crew always had to come first.

* * *

Whitefall was just as dry and desolate as he remembered, only a few tiny settlements dotting the deserted landscape. The people here had to be pretty desperate if they chose a serial killer like Scar to govern them. But he was strong enough to protect them, and he had no love for the Alliance meddling in their affairs. Apparently that was enough. As for Scar, he'd probably chosen this tiny moon to settle on because the climate was remarkably like Ishbal.

"I don't like it, sir," Hawkeye spoke up at Roy's side, looking down at the little valley they'd agreed on as a meeting place. "Too easy for an ambush."

"Relax," Roy said, feigning more ease than he actually felt. "Why do you think you're on my crew?"

Hawkeye was still frowning as she moved off. "Want me to take the other side, Boss?" Havoc asked, taking a drag on his cigarette as he fingered his rifle. He'd been a sniper in the Ishbal War too.

"No," Roy said, leading the way down into the valley. "I need you with me, or they'll start to suspect I _do_ have snipers in position."

"Great, so I'm the musclehead," Havoc said with a grin.

But Roy wasn't in the mood for jokes. He found a good position and waited as Scar and his men rode up on horses. Even though Scar wore an expression that suggested he wanted to run them over, Roy stood his ground.

"Scar," he said pleasantly when the men reigned their horses in. "Long time no see."

The dark-skinned man scowled, the livid X-shaped scar matching the white hue of his hair. "It was far too short a time, Flame Alchemist." His deep, accented voice carried just as much loathing as it always had, and Roy began to realize he might have just accepted this deal to give him another opportunity to kill him.

But Roy let none of this show on his face, still smiling politely. "Your goods are buried a mile west of here, just next to a little scrub brush on the lee side of a hill. You've got tracking skills enough; you'll see where it's hid."

"I enter into this deal only because I must," Scar growled. "Because my people are starving. It irks me to know that I must deal with the very _reason_ they starve." Despite his words, he tossed a clinking bag of coins to Roy, who caught it deftly and pocketed it.

"Easy, Scar," Roy said, taking a step back. "This isn't about Ishbal, this is about your survival and mine. I have no quarrel against you, so what do you say we keep this civil and walk away while we still can?"

Scar smirked and shook his head. "Believe me, Flame Alchemist...you will never leave this moon alive."

That was apparently the cue for his snipers, because there was an awkward pause and Scar's ragtag bunch of men looked around uneasily. Scar's face betrayed no concern, except for his jaw tightening as he continued to glare at Roy.

Roy just smiled and spoke his own cue. "You forget. The hawk's eye watches your every move."

Before the sound of shots could even reach their ears, two of Scar's men fell from their saddles, dead before they hit the ground. The others sprang into action, and for a few minutes Roy and Havoc had their hands full fending off the attack. Scar, with an angry snarl, swung a leg over the side of his horse and dropped to the ground, slamming his right hand onto the dust. The ground split open at his touch, the chasm running up the side of the hill directly towards Hawkeye's position.

Havoc moved faster than Roy did, but his bullet merely grazed Scar's shoulder. Still, it broke his concentration and stopped the transmutation. Scar looked around, saw that all of his men lay dead or wounded around him, and turned back to face his enemies with a murderous scowl. "I see your taste for Ishbalite blood remains intact," he spat.

"I know you will never believe me," Roy said, holding his pistol steady even though he felt old Ishbal flashbacks clawing at the edges of his vision. "But the destruction of Ishbal is the greatest regret of my life. It's the reason I left the Alliance. It's the reason I will never sleep easy again."

"Then let me give you rest!" Scar charged forward, faster than any of them could move, reaching his right hand for Roy's face.

Roy raised his gun, but he knew he would never be able to fire in time. Just as he expected to feel the flesh ripped off his bones, someone leapt in between them, flinging up a metal hand. The automail hand, glowing with the light of alchemy, collided with Scar's approaching hand, and the two reactions canceled each other out, flinging two bodies aside in opposite directions. Scar hit his head on a rock on the way down and fell still, but Edward had much less space to fall. The force of the explosion threw him against Roy, who fell to the ground with an _oomph!_

As they all picked themselves up again, Havoc nudged Scar's motionless body with a toe. "Should I kill him, sir?"

"No, just leave him," Roy said, getting to his feet and heaving Edward up as well. "We've got our pay. No need to leave hard feelings on this moon."

Hawkeye slid down the side of the hill and raced over to them. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, waving her away impatiently. He was more focused on Edward, who was twisting his automail wrist around experimentally. It made an odd mechanical whining sound when it moved. "Got tired of waiting around on the ship?"

Edward looked up from his automail, glowering. "I wanted to make sure you weren't secretly handing us over to the feds here."

Roy shoved his gun angrily into his holster. "Ed, I want to make one thing clear. If I ever kill you, you'll be facing me and you'll be armed. I don't hold to shooting people in the back."

Edward nodded slowly. It looked like he was finally starting to understand.

* * *

Roy actually thought they'd put trouble behind them for the time being. He thought it would be smooth sailing to Boros at least, even if they had to do some quick maneuvering to keep ahead of the Alliance. But naturally, nothing went according to plan. As soon as they opened the door to the hold, Roy found himself blinking down the barrel of another gun.

"Falman was supposed to be keeping an eye on you," he said calmly.

"AL!" Edward yelled, starting forward, but he halted in his tracks when Ross pressed the barrel of the gun under Alphonse's chin. He was standing there, not even looking frightened, just gazing up at the ceiling as though reading something interesting there. His lips were slightly parted, adding to his groggy appearance as though he'd just woken up from a deep sleep.

"Falman's taking a little snooze in the hallway," Ross said, edging around the three of them to get her back to the entrance. "He hasn't had much combat experience, has he? Now, if you don't want this boy's brains decorating the wall, you'll let me off this ship and go your merry way. I won't report your smuggling to the Alliance, out of respect for my misguided but skilled mentor Armstrong."

"You think it'll be that easy to take us into custody?" Edward demanded, bristling even though he couldn't do more than clench his fists while her gun was pointed at Alphonse.

Ross laughed. "Don't worry, it's not you the Alliance is worried about. You're a State Alchemist; they can find you whenever they want. But your brother is Alliance property now. We're just taking back what's ours."

_Snap. FWOOSH._

Alphonse shrieked and darted away, suddenly wide awake, as Maria Ross burst into flames. The fire died out almost instantly, leaving Ross twitching on the ground, as black as charcoal. Edward immediately rushed to his brother's side, wrapping his arms around him and murmuring soothingly to him.

Roy beckoned to Havoc, and together they heaved Ross off the floor. "Don't worry," he said pleasantly as they carried her over to the door. "The burns aren't half as bad as they look. I just did you medium-rare. Enjoy your stay in Whitefall...Ishbal veteran."

They dropped her onto the dusty ground, then stepped back inside and closed the huge door. "Take her away, Hughes," Roy said into the intercom.

"We get paid? Tell me we got paid."

Roy smirked. "We're back in business."

With a whoop, Hughes revved the engines and the ship launched into the air. As Havoc and Hawkeye headed upstairs to see to Falman, Edward looked over from where Alphonse clung to him with a death-grip. "Why'd you do that?" he asked softly.

Roy looked up in surprise from picking up and unloading the pistol Ross had dropped. "Do what?"

Edward nodded to the door where Ross had stood minutes ago. "You could've gotten rid of us, easy. You wouldn't have to deal with us anymore, and your crew would have guaranteed safety."

Roy shrugged, pocketing the bullets. "You and your brother won't last a day in Boros. You're smart, I grant you, but you don't have enough experience with this life to stay out of trouble. If you want to stay clear of the Alliance, it's best if you keep on the move. Besides," he added with a smirk, "I could use a State Alchemist on my crew."

As he turned to go, Edward said with a knowing grin in his voice, "Why? You've already got one."

Glancing down at his ignition-cloth glove, Roy chuckled. "Sharp kid." He pulled the glove off again and tucked it into its usual inside pocket. "Listen, you follow my orders and keep your brother in line...and you're welcome on my ship until you can find a better home."

"I'm home already."

They both looked at Alphonse, surprised by his sudden declaration. The boy peeked shyly through his long tresses at Roy, still clinging to his brother. Edward ruffled Alphonse's hair, then said cheerfully, "Good enough for me!"

"Then come on." Roy nodded up the stairs. "Falman could probably use your help."


	99. Confession

**Author's Note: Yes, we're going back to **_**that**_** story arc XD Believe it or not, I had this scenario planned out**_** way**_** before I came up with "Parents." Very early on, my dear friend feathersnow kept trying to get me to make Ed call Mustang "Dad." I've tried various ways, getting closer each time, but...I think this is the only time when I've actually, literally managed it. Quite fitting, then, that this is the second-to-last chapter. Also, I just want to say that even though this episode kind of makes Hohenheim look bad, I actually like him a lot (the manga/Brotherhood version, though – the first anime Hohenheim is a jerkface, if you ask me). But you have to admit that, from this perspective...it doesn't look that good. They don't know all the reasons behind what Hohenheim's done yet, and he's not about to explain.**

**Timeline: A few hours after "I want to have..."**

**Theme 99: "Confession"**

_for feathersnow, who has been here from the beginning  
_

"How is he?"

Roy looked up in surprise to see Hohenheim standing awkwardly in the doorway. He'd lost his coat in Lab 5, of course, so he stood in his shirtsleeves, holding his battered suitcase in one hand and looking even more like a hobo than before. Roy knew he couldn't look much better himself. He was covered in dirt and blood, he'd lost his jacket somewhere along the line as they rushed Edward to the emergency room, and his shirt had come untucked. He was so exhausted he wanted to stretch out on the floor, but he maintained his vigil.

The men both turned to the bed in the middle of the room, to the boy hooked up to a dozen tubes and wires. Edward looked so small, drowning in a mass of machines pushing him back to health. He was still out cold, sleeping off the anesthetic. "The same," Roy said quietly. "They said he should be waking up within the hour."

"I see." Hohenheim stepped into the room, stopping at the foot of Edward's bed and gazing down at his son, his jaw working. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and headed back to the door. "Tell him goodbye for me, would you?"

"What?" Roy sprang to his feet. "You're leaving?"

Hohenheim turned for another regretful look at Edward. "My work is still unfinished. Now that my sons are safe, I must be off."

"Who cares about your _work?_" Roy demanded, gesturing at the broken boy they'd barely managed to save. "Isn't this more important right now?"

"I've already lost too much time as it is. If I don't resume immediately-"

Roy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "He's your _son._"

But Hohenheim turned his back, his shoulders tense. "I know. I'm a wretched excuse for a father. But I have no choice."

Roy scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head at the man whose ability he'd grown to respect so much. How could such a wise, talented man treat his family like this? "Edward was right about you," he muttered in slow realization.

Hohenheim's old, sad eyes turned to look at him. "Oh?"

"You abandoned your family for some foolish alchemic quest," Roy spat in disgust. "You left them to take care of their dying mother all on their own. You left them alone when they needed you the most!"

"I know you won't believe me, but it was for their sake that I left."

"Why, to spare them the pain of putting up with you any longer?" All of Roy's fatigue and frustration came boiling to the surface, his voice rising as his anger got the better of him. "If you had accepted your responsibility, Ed and Al would never have felt the need to bring their mother back. If not for you, they would never have had to go through so much pain!" _If not for you, the Homunculi would never have noticed them, and they would never have had to endure such torture._

"I...I didn't realize how long it would take. And I had no idea that Trisha would fall ill. I should have gone back to visit, I know. At least to check up on them."

"But you didn't," Roy finished relentlessly. "You ignored them to follow your own interests! Your own flesh and blood, and you couldn't be bothered to so much as send them a letter letting them know you were still alive?! You're not a father at all! Even _I've _been a better father to them!"

His mouth snapped shut, too late to retract his confession. Hohenheim's back was to him, tense and tight. Roy braced himself, sure that Hohenheim would deck him then and there. But all Hohenheim did was turn slowly around to face him, his golden eyes such deep wells of infinite sadness that Roy almost felt sorry for him. He looked down at Roy, then his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes as if the words physically pained him. "You're right," he said in a tight whisper as though Roy had just stabbed him. "You deserve that title much more than I. Take care of them for me. I realize you may not believe me...but I love them more than anything else in this world."

With that, he left. Roy stared incredulously after him until he disappeared around a corner, then snorted and turned back to his chair. How could he just turn his back on his sons like that?

Roy froze when his eyes met another set of golden eyes. Edward looked groggy, but definitely awake. Had he been listening? How much had he heard? Roy leaned over the boy, taking his left hand gingerly so as not to disturb the IV needle. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Edward considered for a moment, then shook his head slowly.

"I imagine you'll want to see your brother," Roy said briskly, reaching for the bag in the other chair next to Edward's bed. Unfortunately, Alphonse had to remain hidden in the bag, because it would lead to a lot of awkward questions if they started carrying around a talking strip of metal.

But Edward's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist with surprising urgency. "Dad," he said, his voice slurred from all the drugs they had pumping through his veins.

Roy immediately bent over Edward again. "Your father? He just left; I'll run and get him-"

But when he started to go, Edward's hand on his wrist tugged insistently. "Not..._Father,_" he mumbled, nearly incoherent. "_Dad._"

_Please, Dad, don't hurt me._

Roy froze. Edward's golden eyes were fogged with drugs, but they remained firmly fixed on his face.

_That's...what Envy made him say. When he looked like you._

"No, no, no, no," Roy said swiftly, sinking down into his chair and bending over Edward again. He cupped the boy's cheek in his hand, forcing Edward to focus on his face. "I'm not your father, Ed. You hear me? You don't have to call me that anymore. I'm just Mustang – just Colonel Mustang, your superior."

"I know _thaaaaat,_" Edward slurred, his eyelids tugging downwards as the drugs pulled him back towards sleep. "Jusss don'...don' leave me too, okay Dad?" His fingers tightened around Roy's till Roy would have needed a crowbar to pry them off. Just before sleep claimed him, he mumbled, "Please, Dad, don't hurt me..."

Roy wondered if Edward would even remember this the next time he woke. Part of him hoped he would, but the boy was so sodden in drugs that he'd probably think it was all a dream. Shame.

He brushed Edward's matted hair away from his face. And for a moment, he pretended. "It's all right, son," he whispered. "I'm not going to leave you. I promise."


	100. Well, Let's Hurry Over There

**Author's Note: I've been considering this chapter for a long time, thinking about how best to end this fic. Even with how much time I had to plan ahead, the core idea for this chapter developed relatively recently. I can see considerable influence from Sherlock and Supernatural – which I suppose is only natural, since those are currently the two shows I'm most obsessed with. This might seem like an odd scenario to end with, but the more I think about it, the more appropriate this seems. In the end, it doesn't matter what these two characters are doing, what their mission is, or what scrapes they help each other get into and back out of again. All that matters is exactly what I've been trying to demonstrate in these 100 chapters: the bond that ties them together.**

**Reaching the end of this fic is bittersweet. This has been where my mind flits to in idle moments for so long, and now that I don't have future themes to think through...I'm not really sure what to do with my brain anymore. This fic has been a constant thread in my life for almost three and a half years, through countless changes life has thrown my way. I'm sad to say goodbye to this fun project, but at the same time I feel a huge sense of accomplishment. I did it, everyone! :D**

**At the time of writing this note, **_**Till I'm a Hundred**_** has received over 1300 reviews, over 350 faves, and over 300 follows. The amount of love and dedication you all have shown to this fic is **_**astounding,**_** and I can't thank you enough. One of my favorite things to do has been reading the responses to each chapter, and I'm really going to miss our conversations and your inspiring suggestions. You have all been so encouraging and accepting when I needed it most. Thank you, all, and I hope to see you next time! :)**

**Timeline: Postseries AU (manga/Brotherhood)**

**Theme 100: Well, let's hurry over there**

_for my father, who will probably never read this, but who has always been there when I needed him - I love you, Daddy!_

Roy slammed the door of his car closed and stomped towards the building, not looking to the right or the left. He paid no attention to the heaps of garbage piled up in the alleyways, nor the hooker leaning in exhaustion against the nearest streetlamp, who dredged up the shadow of an alluring smile as he passed. He hardly noticed how incongruous his smart, clean clothes and thick overcoat were against the squalor around him. People stared at him as he passed, but he ignored them all. He had eyes only for the building ahead of him.

At first glance, the apartment building seemed abandoned, its windows gaping like empty black eyes in the dying light of the sun. But Roy knew better. He strode confidently up to the heavy front doors and shoved them open. A beefy man in a ragged coat lurched to his feet, planting himself sturdily in front of the stairs leading upwards. "And where d'you think _you're_ going, dandy?"

Not even breaking stride, Roy snapped his fingers and knocked the man aside with a blast of fire. "Don't worry," he growled as he stepped over the man twitching on the floor. "Those burns aren't half as bad as they look."

He took the stairs three at a time, scoffing impatiently when he saw that the guard on the second floor was slumped in the corner clutching an empty bottle of booze. He opened the door on the landing and stepped into a large, open space. It seemed this building's construction had never been completed; there were no walls separating rooms on this entire floor. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, but eventually the faint illumination from neon signs outside allowed him to distinguish numerous lumps in the darkness. They were slumped every which-way amongst piles of rubble and a few rusty bed frames, keeping to no order except to avoid a large hole that gaped in the middle of the floor.

Roy began the arduous task of hunting through the many people sleeping here. Glass and concrete crunched under his boots as he walked, stooping at each figure to look into their face, searching for a few distinct features. Some of them glared up at him or started up in fear, but most of them were too far gone to even notice his presence.

When he finally found Edward, he barely recognized him. If not for the neon pink light glinting off a metal leg, he might have passed right over him. But Roy stopped immediately and knelt down next to him, tugging down a rag to see the boy's face. Edward's eyes slowly opened and stared back at him glassily. He blinked, then groaned and rolled over.

Jaw clenched, Roy grabbed the front of Edward's coat and jerked him to his feet. Edward's head lolled forward and his dead weight fell against Roy's chest. The rage was back, leaving no room for sympathy. Without further ado, Roy bent down, swept an arm under Edward's knees, and tipped the boy over his shoulder. He stomped back out of the room, carrying his former subordinate like a sack of flour. No one tried to stop him, and he hurried down the stairs unchallenged.

The lightly-toasted guard was gone, so Roy just thrust the front doors open again and marched back to his car. The hooker gaped at him with an open mouth as he opened the passenger door of his car and practically threw the boy inside. Roy slammed the door closed again and turned to glare at her. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click and she scurried away.

"I'm taking you home," Roy snapped as he slid into his seat. Edward blinked blankly at him, and he gritted his teeth. "Well, let's hurry over there, then."

The engine of the car roared in response to Roy's anger as he sped down the streets towards the more respectable part of town. Edward was still out of it, his head thunking dully against the window with every turn. Roy refused to look at him until he'd made it all the way back to his house and turned off the engine. Then, heaving a deep sigh, he looked at Edward and felt his anger ebbing away.

Curled up in the seat, missing his left shoe and wearing dirty clothes he must not have washed in a week, Edward would have looked utterly pathetic even if he _wasn't_ drooling and sluggishly shifting his vacant eyes from side to side. "It's _shakban,_ isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Dilated golden eyes groggily looked up at him. "Uh?"

But Roy didn't need his confirmation. He'd seen the drug's effects plenty of times in Ishbal. Apparently, it came from a root that only grew in the desert. The Ishbalites used it to make a numbing concoction that served as a primitive sort of anesthetic, but when it was concentrated and injected directly into the bloodstream... Unfortunately, the sale of _shakban_ had been the only way many exiles had been able to survive after the extermination. It would take a long time before their economy would recover enough for them to survive without it, no matter how hard anyone tried to help.

With another sigh, Roy got out of the car and crossed over to Edward's side. There was no use thinking about that now. For the moment, _shakban_ was here to stay, and he just had to deal with what was right in front of him. When he opened Edward's door, the boy almost fell out, but Roy managed to catch him and heave him into his arms. Carrying a sixteen-year-old boy with a metal leg was no joke, especially now that he didn't have adrenaline to aid him anymore. He made it down the path and up the three steps to the front door, but then he had to lay Edward down on the stoop to unlock the door. Once he got the door open, he just dragged the boy inside by his wrists.

Roy stared at the daunting height of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, then gave it up as a lost cause and heaved Edward into the living room instead. He somehow got Edward onto the couch, then flopped into his armchair and watched the boy drooling on his upholstery. What on earth was he going to do? He'd been through a lot of things with this kid – a lot of strange, daunting things he'd never dreamed he would have to figure out. But nothing had prepared him for this.

_I don't know what to do,_ he thought, almost in a silent prayer. He closed his eyes, trying to think of what Hawkeye would do in such a situation. Or, better yet, Alphonse.

He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, the thin grey light of predawn lit the living room. Edward had rolled onto his back and wiped the drool from his chin. Now he lay staring up at the ceiling, his eyes hollow and exhausted, but clear. With a groan at the cracking of his spine, Roy straightened up from his uncomfortable slump in his chair. He stretched with a yawn, wishing he'd just gone to bed.

"You shouldn't have done that," Edward said dully.

Roy gritted his teeth, weariness forgotten. "Oh, I beg your pardon, _Mr._ Elric. My mistake. I should've just left you to die."

Maybe it was just the insubstantial light, but Edward's face looked pale and drawn, as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep in ages. "I wasn't gonna die just from a little _shakban._"

Roy surged to his feet, looming over the idiot on his couch. "A _little?_ I know how much it takes for that effect! How long have you been taking it?"

Edward gave him a scornful look, a mere shadow of his old defiance. "Stop overreacting. Just a week."

Roy narrowed his eyes.

Edward hesitated. "Okay, maybe a couple weeks."

Roy continued to glare.

He heaved a heavy, shuddering sigh, closing his eyes and letting every shred of defiance seep out of him. "Two months," he said dully.

"Two months..." Roy sank down onto the coffee table, staring at Edward as if at a stranger. How could he have degenerated from the bright, lively boy he knew so well into _this_ in just two months?

But then...it was perfectly reasonable that it would happen, because two months ago... "Ed," he whispered, stricken, "do you really think this is what Al sacrificed his soul for?"

Edward's eyes flew open, and he half-rose from the couch. "Don't," he choked out, tears building up in his eyes. "Don't you dare-" But his hand flew to his head, and he sank back onto the couch. He gripped his head with both hands, breath heaving in his chest as he tried not to cry.

"Don't fight it," Roy said softly. "It's part of the crash. _Shakban_ will numb your emotions when taken at such a high dosage, but in the aftermath you'll spiral into a depression deeper than the one you were trying to escape."

"I – know – _that,_" Edward forced out between his hands, his chest still heaving with half-suppressed sobs. "Why d'you think...I kept taking it?"

"This is not the answer, Edward," Roy said firmly. "Has _shakban_ actually helped you solve your problems? Has it made any of this easier to bear, in the end?"

Edward's hands pushed back into his hair, revealing his glaring, tear-stained face. "_Nothing_ will _ever_ make this easier to bear! Don't you _understand?_ I don't _care_ anymore!"

His heart ached. He wanted to cry too, but instead he just felt empty. "That's where you're wrong. You care so much. You try to block all of those feelings, but no matter how hard you try...it breaks through anyway. That's just how strong your heart is."

Edward's arms flopped to his sides, one of them hanging off the edge of the couch. "I want to die."

The words stabbed like knives in Roy's chest, but he pushed the pain aside. He knew it was as nothing compared to Edward's. "Well," he said stubbornly, "that's just what I'm _not_ going to let you do."

Edward looked over wearily. "Why?"

"Because." There were so many reasons, so many good, convincing reasons...but he couldn't seem to think of them right now. "Because you are you, and I am me. And I can't let you do that. I _can't._"

Tears were welling up in the boy's eyes again. "That's not gonna work forever, you know," he said. "Just how long do you think you can keep saving me, anyway?"

"I'm going to keep trying till I'm a hundred." He reached over and shoved Edward's unruly hair into his face. "You idiot."


End file.
